Masterpiece - Severus (3 in the Unbearable Series)
by Catharsiss-BridgetteHayden
Summary: Silent Severus is the ultimate shiny black box that Sirius and James cannot resist opening. He's too strange. He's too different. When they plan the worst prank they can imagine, they pay a price for opening a veritable Pandora's Box. (Peter Pettigrew is also in the story, limited to only 4 name listings).
1. Black Box

Title: Masterpiece - Severus

Pairing: Snape/James are the main pairing

Overall Summary: Silent Severus is the ultimate shiny black box that Sirius and James cannot resist opening. He's too strange. He's too different. When they plan the worst prank they can imagine, they pay a price for opening a veritable Pandora's Box.

Chapter Summary: Severus doesn't want to attract attention. This is exactly what draws James and his friends to him. None of them are good with rejection.

WARNING: Non-con and gender challenges!

Lovely reader, this story probably contains socially inappropriate things. Ideas are put together in a way that may seem strange to you because you have not walked in my shoes. My mind goes where it's not supposed to go. That's where all the excitement is for me. Please turn back if this makes you uncomfortable. It's a beautifully strange, story. My favorite kind.

* * *

The more James Potter studied Snape, the more Snape bothered him. There he was, standing over his plant with Slughorn, feeding droplets to a shriveled dandelion. Damn if that thing didn't stand up in its pot and spread its weedy leaves for more. The class gasped.

For one thing, all that fucking black hair falling around his face and shoulders, was obscene. He should be forced to set a proper example and cut it. Any teacher should've been able to see this. The only reason a guy would keep his hair all long and soft and shiny like that, was if he was spitting in the faces of real men. That's what James thought, as he watched Severus Snape accept the award for the best brewed, plant healing elixir. Seriously, if men were going to let themselves look like that, there'd be nothing separating them from the women. How would you know who to chat up? What the bloody sense did that make? Sure, old wizards could get by with long grey tresses. Dumbledore could pull it off. But nobody's gonna mistake his ancient arse for a chick, now are they? Nobody's trying to get a piece of that.

Snape's green water concoction was the only one to bring his dead dandelion back to its optimum yellow bloom. A few students had met with half the success, but Snape's plant lifted it's bushy gold petals and stood at its tiny height within minutes of soaking in the droplets he gave it. The class had only been given an hour to perfect their potion. James knew for a fact that Snape worked on his for a full week before the assignment was even set. Slughorn may have been impressed, but James wasn't.

It's not that he hated Snape, he didn't. Quite the opposite. He could clearly see intelligence guarding itself behind Snape's eyes. Snape looked at his classmates the way a Greek philosopher might've looked at a culture of third-world natives, clicking and warring amongst themselves. Or, lets face it, a visitor from another planet. He was just trying to learn and not get killed by teen savagery in the process. But James wanted to tell him, good luck with that, mate. You've landed on Earth, not some bloody paradise. You gotta mix it up, you gotta play the game. The human game. You'd be bloody good at it, mate.'

If he could just get the guy to talk to him, he'd probably be able to do something about teaching him to fit in. James was good with people. He was a realist. If Snape didn't learn how to hold his own now, in a world of real men, he would just be eaten alive as an oddball reject that no one respected. With a bloke like him, it could go either way. If he'd let James tame some of that wild indifference, he could teach Snape how to get what he wanted from people.

James knew there was some tragic history there, some family issue that might as well have stigmatized Snape as being raised by wolves, but the guy was too intense to ignore. He fucking walked like he didn't give a shit about anyone else. He made people stare, gaping in the wind he left them standing in. James saw how people didn't easily approach him, as if Snape had charmed a barrier around himself. Girls wished they could talk to him. Guys interpreted this as a kind cold control they envied. It was becoming so pronounced, that even James thought it would be kinda cool to have the guy for a friend. But he was so odd, it could've gone the other way. He just as easily saw himself pitying the jerk for not being smart enough to catch on. James could admit that Snape was tall and pretty good looking for a guy. Not the most athletic guy, but if he cared more about his looks and its affect on others, he'd be competition. That might be fun, but the jerk didn't know what he had.

Every time James attempted to humor the Slytherin, something awkward crept up between them. Whether it was a joke Severus was too serious to get or a prank that he shrank, disapprovingly from, he never seemed to get that James was trying to be his friend. Was he so backwards that he didn't know guys don't use words to say how they feel? They use action. They joke, they kid, they fart around. Only girls actually use the proper language. Surely, he wasn't that soft. He scared people, for crying out loud. That's partly why James liked him.

Everyone else looked like normal students in their black robes, Snape looked like darkness had sex with light and spit out this extraordinary blend of pale, sharp drama. Ever see a sky where the sunny side meets a storm, right at the line? That's what he looked like, a fucking storm of contrasts. Those odd things found in nature, don't talk. Like Snape, they don't spill their secrets to help everyone achieve understanding. No, James thought, they fuck with you and make you wonder why they even exist at all. It's okay if the sky wants to show something different every once in a while. But don't ask him to act like it was perfectly normal to have the sky go all weird on you, because it wasn't.

When Slughorn dismissed the class, James hung around watching the few students who congratulated Snape. Sirius and Remus hovered by his seat. All three aborted their glib remarks when Lily Evans crossed the room to compliment Snape. As airy as a light breeze, the red head placed her long fingers on his sleeve and told him what a genius he was. James marveled. It was like she didn't know what a contagion Snape was. She just treated him like she treated everyone. And got the most splendid results. For a moment Snape appeared to forget the emptying classroom and matched her smile with equal warmth. Equal appreciation. His smile was so beatific, the humanness of it pissed James off.

"Oh, he knows who to act normal with, doesn't he? The odd git."

Beside him, Sirius added, "If you'd walked up to him like that, you'd be limping away from his scorn."

Remus snickered. "You two are so jealous. It's free entertainment for me."

"Jealous? Lily's not even thinking about him. She's told me what she looks for in a man and he's no where near her taste."

"Too bad I'm not talking about Lily, then. The way you too go on about Snape, Lily is clearly the third wheel."

While Remus bent on his laughter, James and Sirius, defended themselves. "I'm just supporting James, like a real friend should. I don't give two loads about Snivelous."

"Jealous of Lily? Yeah, the next time I want to get close to a greasy black wig on a grasshopper, I'll be sure and ask her what her secret is?"

Grinning, Remus thrust his hands deep into his pockets and rocked on his heels. "Gentlemen. Such defensiveness. What could possibly provoke so many unfriendly words for our friend here?"

James shoved his books into Remus's stomach. "Carry these. I got a few choice words to say to sir grasshopper."

Just as he got up, a round, plump young man ran into the room calling his name. "I have it! I have it, Sirius."

Peter Pettigrew bounded towards the row of seats and didn't stop until his bulk crashed into the whole row, dislocating the arrangement of tables and burners. Flasks shook in their brackets as he braced himself on the table to catch his breath. The commotion got only a glance from Snape, who strode out of the room behind Lily.

"What are you on about?" James snapped. He kept his eye on Snape's robe as he maneuvered around Peter.

"I finally have it. The book Sirius needs. On human transfigurations! All of Hogwart's stuff tells you what's possible, but they don't actually go into detail about the more complicated transformations. This book was in my great aunt's library. She sent it to me. I remembered it from when I was a child. It has information about the Animagi. The whole process. The language is a little archaic, but I think we can figure it out."

"You've got the details? Really?" Sirius snatched the book from him. Loose pages slipped from its leather binding.

"Careful. It's really old. That's the first edition, before all the laws were put into place."

"There must be illegal spells in that book," Remus admonished. "Dangerous spells."

"Lads, as interesting as this sounds, you can fill me in later." James left his friends staring after him as he raced for the stairs. He lost sight of Severus a few times, but always managed to spot him among the other robes. No one else's billowed with that quick, graceful speed. He wouldn't mind learning that. He told himself he was just following Snape to make sure he didn't try anything with Lily. She was too nice for her own good. The longer he followed, the more he realized Lily had gone her own way two floors ago.

So what does a person like Snape do between classes? What hole does he crawl into, until it's safe for him to come out again? Sure enough, he predicted the lone wolf to shirk lunch in a cheerful, crowded setting. There must've been too many people out enjoying the sun, for his comfort level. James saw him pass right through a perfectly bright courtyard in preference to the cool shadows offered within the school library. Maybe he burns, thought James. He could see that as being plausible. That skin did look awfully high maintenance.

Just when Snape's behavior almost made sense to him, James saw him open a broom closet beneath stairs at the library's entrance, and close it behind him. He smiled. Now that was just like Severus. The only place on earth quiet and private enough for him, was a broom closet. Did he really hate people that much?

The temptation to ruin Severus's precious solitude to ask him, felt like the perfect way to bust his balls. Jame's hand was on the door handle when he heard his name called. Over his shoulder, his friends were quickly catching up him. He put his fingers to his lips, silencing them, and pointed to the door. "Snivelous."

Always game for fun, the other three young men fell into understanding and grinned. They had no idea what James was planning, but they wouldn't miss it for the world. James pushed on the door, braced against any squeaking that would give him away. The closet was a tomb of quarried bedrock, enclosing a small, winding space that led to nowhere beneath the stairs. The little room spanned less than ten feet and allowed Snape to clearly see him enter. Snape sat by the only small window that let in just enough light through a tinted pane, to illuminate a book page if it fell on it the right way. He looked poignant as a spinster, James decided, reading by the window like that.

Snape was slow to take an interest in him, and merely waited on James to explain the intrusion.

"You've got to be kidding me. You're in a closet with a book?" James heard his own laughter and that of his friends behind him. "I've got to wonder, what is in those pages? You just won an award, my good man. Celebrate in the sun."

His declaration was so hardy, he almost believed himself sincere. The corners of Snape's mouth lifted as if James's act fooled him too, just a little. But then they returned to normal. "I'm fine here."

That was another thing. His voice. It didn't squeak and break up like everyone else's did. It wafted soft and low like something measured and placed to fit. No kid James knew talked like that.

"People are starting to wonder why you don't like them, Sev. Come out and be social. What gives?"

As if this needed a serious response, Severus closed his book. His hands were almost apologetic. "I've taken extra classes this term. Tell them I'm sorry, I've no time for friends."

James wanted to say, 'Nobody cares, I just made that up.' But he baited Snape. "I bet you planned it that way. I bet you hate people. I know, people are arses. But, I know a reasonable bloke when I see one. You and I haven't always seen eye to eye, and that's my fault. I'll take the blame. The only reason I'm in here disturbing your reading, is because I'm being the better man and asking you to join my pals out on the lawn. Tell us how you got that potion in under an hour. There's no reason why a Gryffindor can't be friends with a Slytherin, is there?"

Where the extension of friendship would soften anyone else, James could see Snape's recoil in the sudden flat line of his mouth. His eyes dulled with humorless dismissal. "I can't join you, Gryffindor or no."

"How about tomorrow? Sirius and I are looking for some extra help with our potions. You could give us your take on things. How you find it so easy?"

"I study."

"Yeah, but that doesn't come easy for some of us. Let's face it, you don't have a lot distracting you. I've got Quidditch, a girlfriend, and a ton of friends. We can't all be studious." James chuckled at his harmless jab.

Snape stood and regarded him with a look so prim and reprimanding that James figured out what Snape reminded him of. "I've got it. You sound and act like a really confident woman. A spinster. Are you close to your mother? 'Cause I think it's rubbed off. That's what's been bothering me about you for a long time. Feels good to figure it out."

He didn't mean to laugh, but it was so damn funny. And the anger on Snape's face just made it worse. Even the guys behind him laughed as they spilled into the closet. "Am I right? Doesn't he fit somebody's mother, or some old maid witch, than he does a wizard? All that long hair, hiding in closets with books, come on. I mean, at least put it up in a bun or something. I'm sure Professor McGonagall's got a lovely pointy hat you can barrow."

Their laughter grew riotous as Snape's expression grew taut. They laughed for so long, Snape's face slackened in a final resolve. He saw the exact moment when Snape quit them and decided to leave. Instead of storming off, as expected, Snape drew himself up, lifted his arms, and lifted his hair away from his shoulders. It was an innocent act to the less observing, but a strange 'fuck you' to the boy who had a problem with it.

James got the message, and tried to laugh it off with his friends. But Snape's body and manner, outlined in his billowing black, stretched the full length of him for appraisal. It stood tall, slender, and long muscled. For one second, the stretch showed James and his friends, what would happen if he allowed himself to be as free as them. It flaunted a concealed sexuality, as masterfully as any who wanted it known without saying a word. And in spite of Snape's boyish long frame, the gesture struck James as distinctly female. James caught the scent. It silenced him. His friends were slow to get it.

What was this? Bloodline magic? Somewhere in Snape's ancestry, were there witches vying for the chance to live again through him? He looked masculine enough, but the demonstration with his hair sent mixed signals. Even men with longer, better hair, didn't use it that way. He knew from sharing a bathroom that Snape was all male. So he felt all the more confused. Snape picked up his books to leave.

James blocked his path. "It's just a joke, come on, Severus. Don't be so serious. I know I'm talking utter shite. I led you into the trap, just to get to have some fun. Sue me."

"Step aside." Snape denied him anymore friendliness.

James couldn't let him walk by. "You know, you can't take everything so seriously. If one of us doesn't play the fool, nobody would ever make friends."

Behind him, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had grown silent. Snape's refusal to play nice, no doubt alerted them to trouble. James could practically feel their wands at the ready. "Okay, Severus, Sev. I'm going to let you go, but first let me say -"

Snape stepped around James, prepared to push past his friends. Against all reason, James couldn't let him get away with such fearlessness. He grabbed Snape's robe and pushed him against the base supporting the staircase above. He hadn't thought about what he'd do, he just went with his strongest impulse. Something in his mind told him that if he was fast enough, Snape would let him get away with it. He wouldn't fight.

But James hesitated. Snape didn't fight him at all. He just stood there looking evil in some cruel twist of beauty and blackness. There might've been a man in his pants, but there was a woman in his blood. Snape's eyes dared him to try it. Snape, and everyone else, saw the kiss coming a mile away. When James did muster the courage to lean forward, Snape waited until he was a hair away from his lips, before turning his face aside. With the act out there for all to see, Snape's actions asked James, 'Now who's laughing? Now who's the fool?'

James recovered quickly, letting Snape go. "Like I said," he joked. "Friends." He really had no idea what had just taken place, and didn't feel like holding Snape hostage over it. There was nothing funny about his embarrassment at all. His friends had seen enough. He backed away, slipping past them. Remus ran after him. Peter looked undecided before backing out the door. Only Sirius stayed, eyeing Snape like he had a bone to pick. But the hands that grabbed Snape were a lot more aggressive than that.

"You, you piece of shite!" He did what James had been too slow to do. He didn't give Snape a chance to dodge his mouth. He shoveled himself deep into Severus's throat, making the kiss as savage as he could, and didn't stop until Snape gagged. Snape was strong enough to keep him fighting for contact, but he used every second to wrench as much disgust from the prissy tease he could get. When he let go, both their mouths were hurting.

He wiped the saliva off of his chin. "That's for my friend. Take my advice, you ugly git. If somebody takes pity on that scowl of yours, have since enough to fucking let them kiss you if that's what they want."

He turned and left Snape to glare at his back.

* * *

It took James days to come to terms with his actions. Every time he tried to explain to his friends why he did it, Sirius told him to shut up. He didn't have to justify himself.

They piled into the Gryffindor common room after hours. Remus had been able to charm the kitchen elves into sneaking butterbeer and snacks up to them. Crumbs fell from his mouth as he tried to comfort James from the opposite couch. "So you overstepped the mark. We all saw him. He's bloody gorgeous when he's not hiding it. Not one of us saw that coming. From the looks of it, I'd say he was female in the womb and his mother tried to change that to please his father. There's a syndrome with kids like that."

Peter looked up from his book. "Really? I've never heard of such a thing."

"S'true," Answered Sirius from the couch. "The old folk in my family used to say a baby had to be fixed if it wasn't what they wanted. A powerful witch can give her husband the son or daughter he wants, no matter that he's the one carrying the deciding factor. Back when heirs had to be males, this was a fortunate talent to possess. But it's permanent and the soul, body and brain knows it's a lie. That's why wizards never bother themselves with being too terribly upset over blokes kissing other blokes. The purebloods understand it best. I think they invented the spell to secure their fortunes."

"That's remarkable," Peter sat up. "There's a spell in here that's similar, but it's only temporary. To change an entire little baby before it's born, that's powerful. People are playing at gods, trying to control something like that."

Sirius slipped a splash of bourbon he'd lifted off Filch, into his pumpkin juice. "Stick to your animagus studies and leave the satanic rituals to the Slytherins."

"Hey!" Remus took offense. "That's rather uncalled for."

"I know, I know, some of your best friends are Slytherins." He waved his arms in the air. "Satan, I apologize for saying you have Slytherins for friends."

Remus tsked. "Show a little sophistication. Don't disrespect the magic of our ancestors."

"If I were in contempt of magic that leveled the playing field, would I be trying to master the animagus? No, I would've just given myself a horse's dong and be done with it."

Peter made a face. "Gross!"

Remus dribbled juice down his chin as he laughed.

James stubbornly held to his introspection, not joining them. In his mind, Snape kept turning his face away. Those thin pink lips kept evading him, rejecting him. He fixated on the line between them and its wide, downward arch. He wasn't even angry at himself for attempting the kiss. He was more upset at how Snape's rejection could upset him. He hadn't even realized he wanted to do that, till he couldn't do it. It wasn't even a big deal really. He knew he was a good looking guy, had one of the best looking girls at the school, and did very well for himself in the smooching department. Which was why he couldn't understand how an odd, white slug like Snape thought he was too good for him. That was fucking humiliating.

He could let it go. He would. He knew tables would turn soon enough and he'd have Snape tripping over his shoe laces at the top of a flight of stairs, or hanging upside down in the air with his pants down. He'd tried, for the last time, to make peace with the idiot and that hadn't worked. Oh sure, he hadn't really been serious about all that helping him with potions stuff. But the invitation to join his circle had been real.

Something Sirius had said, inspired James to announce to all of them. "I know, we can give Severus a donkey's dong, since he thinks he's some kind of a stud."

"Donkey's are sterile, mate," Remus corrected him.

"Then let's make him a female donkey. That suits him better."

Remus snickered like it was very naughty of him, indeed. Sirius got very quiet, considering.

Peter offered another idea. "We can turn him into a toad. That classic spell is in here. It would only last for a few hours."

"Yes," Sirius agreed. "And put him in the woods. That would scare the hell out of the little bookworm."

"No good." James pointed out. "He'd get eaten. We can't chance it."

"Yes, but it'd be the perfect murder if we were the murdering type."

"I don't want to kill him. I want to let him know what a perfect arse he is. I want to hurt him with humiliation. Having him walk around with an elephant's snout is too good for him. I want something seriously upsetting to him."

All of them fell silent, attempting to answer James's wishes by brainstorming with him. James looked at Peter's book. "What did you say that spell was, that purebloods once used to get the heirs they wanted?"

Peter's shock had him stuttering. "Remus said that. The only spell in this book that even comes close to that, doesn't change a person completely, for real. It just forces their cells to do the opposite of what they're doing."

"How long will the effects last?"

"Depends. There's more than one version. Anywhere from a few hours to a few days. It's awfully complicated, though. There's some debate over whether or not the consent of the person is needed in order for it to work. Dark wizards can force it to work, but things go horribly wrong. I'd say this isn't the spell you want to mess with."

James sat up. A sense of relief brought an easy smile to his face. "I'd say that's exactly the spell I want to use on Severus Snape." He looked at his friends. "At least, after we give him a few extra appendages for fun, we'll finish with that grand finale. Are you with me?"

Sirius was the first to lift his glass. Remus shook his head and chuckled, "It'll never work." But his grin told them he would go along for the ride.

As uncomfortable as the idea made Peter, he didn't want to feel left out. It was just another prank, after all. And if James was too angry with Snape to understand the full extent of the spell, well he would learn everything eventually, if he attempted to use it. There was so much convoluted information in the text, so many rules and twists, he wasn't even sure he was translating some of it correctly. Not known for his academics, James would probably back off from it. That's what Peter was counting on when he agreed to help his friends cast the Unbearable curse on Snape.

* * *

Dear reader, you are now armed with enough information to know that very bad and naughty things will happen in this story. Snape is the character I love the most, therefore, he will be the one who elicits the greatest concern. *HINT!* I don't write "happy" endings, I write resolutions leading to greater issues. This way, the story never really ends in one's heart.

* * *

Notes:

A man as strong as Snape, deserves to cry. He kept his secrets for so long, between so many obstacles, and he never collapsed under the pressure. I wanted a fic that pushes him to cry so that my love can just keep pouring out for him.

I'm gonna repeat myself here. This story was initially inspired by the scene where McGonagall confronts Snape. (Slow it down and watch how powerful and energetic Snape's elegance is). Snape bought Harry time to destroy the horcruxi and made sure he had the Gryffindor sword to do it with. (He stole it from Bellatrix's vault and his patronis led Harry to it).

Look carefully at the series of expressions that play across Snape's face when he's confronted by McGonagall. It had to be pointed out to me, because the scene goes by too quickly, that Snape actually uses McGonagall's attack to deflect it towards the two Death Eaters behind him and take them out. Ensuring they cannot harm the students when he makes his escape, was what held him there. He never tries to harm McGonagall or Harry, and his anguish at losing her friendship is very evident on his face. When I saw this, I was ready to let him cry and give into the stress. I was ready to let him be strong enough to show what is, inaccurately, perceived as weakness. Crying can sometimes be a luxury that strong people do not feel they have. The body has a right to cry, for all that it is put through.

I'd been wanting to write Snape for years, but never felt I could do him justice. I still can't. But that scene assured me I had something I wanted to say about his energy, which is alive and thriving for anyone who tunes into it. JK's Snape is brilliant and she gets all the credit for that. But Alan Rickman brought something extra to the table with his performance, and by the end, he was untouchable. Fandom's love of Snape is really what revealed this to me. It's as if JK Rowling's genius gave us the basic kit, and from that, masterpieces of alternative realities have been built. Without Fandom, Harry Potter would just be a sad, albeit great, story that I could only read once. Thank you JK and FANDOM for making it so much more.


	2. Cellular Spells

Title: Masterpiece - Severus/ Cellular Spells (chapter two)

Pairing: Severus Snape/James Potter, Severus/Main male characters

Summary: James and Sirius wrestle with their problem. Their problem fights back.

WARNINGS: Non-con, GENDER ISSUES, Mature themes.

* * *

NOTE: This chapter may be rewritten. I didn't hit the target ending I wanted.

* * *

It was a big decision. It tested their commitment.

When nobody said a word, Peter repeated, "Hair, blood, or, er…semen. Those are our choices."

The revulsion on Remus's face, spoke for the whole group. Sirius grinned, his eyes actually twinkling at everyone's discomfort. James's poker face betrayed nothing. In spite of it, embarrassment prickled in the air.

Good, Peter thought. Not one of us could possibly see this through.

They were holed up in their sleeping quarters. Confiscated bacon biscuits and cheap wine made their midnight game of craps, more pleasant. They were half-heartedly placing bets on how their wizard dice would land, gambling away their allowances and winning it back. Wizard dice turned for the one who could cast the strongest intention on a number. When James and Sirius played one on one, the dice would often flip and pop in an indecisive stalemate between the two dominant wizards. Tonight was meant to hunker down and put their plan into action.

Peter reminded them, "Blood will create the strongest binding, but takes the longest to spell. About six weeks. The spell can last for months if properly accompanied with maintenance spells. Hair, cuts the time in half, as well as the duration. So the last is the quickest, albeit crudest, way of accomplishing the spell."

Remus folded on his soft laughter. Sirius blurted, "We heard you the first time. We're just trying to bloody figure out who's going after the ingredients. James, I believe this is your school project."

James wasn't laughing. While Peter's news wasn't what he was prepared for, he reined in the instinct to wretch in exaggeration. The longer he stayed silent, the more hopeful Peter grew of successfully disgusting his friends enough for them to dash the whole idea.

But James was smart. Maybe not book smart, but he could think on his feet. He could improvise like a con artist. It took Peter a moment to realize that James saw the news as a challenge. Too reckless to back down, and too immature to embrace it, the gears in his mind pushed out the only solution that made sense to it. "Okay. So who's the sluttiest girl in the school who will take two sickles for the privilege?"

The name that came to all three, "Patricia Hershey."

Peter looked mystified. "The Ravenclaw? Is she lenient on that sort of thing?"

"Best lenient I ever had," Sirius affirmed.

"She's been known to spend quality time with a few of the lads," James offered, in stead of pointing out that Peter was the only one amongst them who hadn't had a go at her.

"Donna Lourdes," added Remus. "But she won't do it for less than ten."

Sirius snapped his fingers. "Don't forget Tracey Meredith. She's been known to lend a friendly hand, or mouth, in an effort to save herself for marriage."

When they'd had a good laugh, Remus reminded them, "Gents, who are we kidding? Snape could just as likely respond to blokes."

"Ew…" Peter twisted his lips.

"What if he doesn't like girls?"

Sirius answered with a question. "Then why didn't he kiss James? If any bloke was going that way, James is nothing to sneer at. He could do worse."

"Because there was more of an advantage to denying James, than kissing him. He wanted the upper hand."

James waved at them. "I'm right here, guys."

"He hates James. We can't rule out the fact that he might not respond to girls. Do we know any blokes who'd be willing?"

"Screw that. A hot mouth is a hot mouth. If we blindfold him, he's not gonna know," Sirius pointed out.

Remus countered, "If we blindfold him, he's going to be so freaked out, he's not going to be able to produce what we need. This has to be handled delicately."

Peter jumped in. "Remember also, no matter which method we use, all require accessing his sleeping quarters. We have to place either a real pearl, or a temporary fresh oyster under his bed, drug his food once a day, and maintain a view of him for several minutes a day, for a minimum of two weeks while chanting an incantation."

They looked at him as if he were deliberately making things harder. "I told you, this is a tedious spell. Are we certain we want to use it? The potion we have to make, to put on his food, is going to require two animal sacrifices and all of us to stay awake for thirty-six hours before it's over with."

Their mouths fell open.

"Perhaps I should've led with that. Even so, we must ask ourselves if Snape is really worth all this trouble? There are simpler spells that would piss him off, aplenty."

"No." James hit the floor with his fist. "I want this one."

Sirius and Remus protested. "C'mon, mate. That just sounds like too much work."

"I ain't bloody staying up thirty-six hours for nobody. Not unless I'm having a really great time, and Snivelous does not exactly ring my bells."

Hope floated to the top of Peter's heart.

"Then I'll do it my damn self. Peter, you list everything I'm supposed to do. You make it as simple as baking a fucking cake. Step 1, 2, 3. I'll fucking do it. I'll shoot up whatever potion I have to, to stay awake. I have the cloak, I'll get into that Slytherin's room, and I'll fucking put the potion on his toothbrush or bribe a house elf to switch his spoon everyday. When I want something, I don't give up."

This was a direct challenge to Sirius and Remus. "The payoff is going to be Snape, naked and humiliated and female, for all the world to see. We'll have pictures. We may even have video. That bastard is gonna regret not siding with me."

Remus remained the voice of reason. "But this whole business of blindfolding him. Doesn't that mean kidnapping? That's a bit more serious than giving him girly bits for a few hours. That's a high crime that goes beyond expulsion."

"Nobody said anything about kidnapping. We'll just wait till he's in the bath and have the girl paid and ready. We'll get her in and out."

"What if," Peter stammered. "What if the girl, can't um, can't get him to…"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "All she has to do is provide a warm, moist vessel. I know a wicked spell that'll milk him like a cow."

"Oh my god," Peter covered his mouth. He wasn't sure he wanted to see anything like that.

Remus looked at Sirius. "And exactly how would you know something like that?"

"Hey, I'll try anything once. Don't act like you don't know me."

James clapped his hands. "So you guys are still in? I'm not going to have to do this by myself?"

Remus shrugged. "Of course we're in. If you want this that badly, and we can do it without going to Azkazaban or being expelled, then we'll help you. What the hell else are we going to do, let you take all the credit for the greatest prank ever played on someone? No gentlemen, when we look back and tell this story, we are all going to get credit for it." He held up his glass. They toasted.

Peter hesitated a second too long and their glasses were already lowering by the time he raised his. Just as well. Now that he had the confirmation of them pressing ahead, he had the extra concern of James fully expecting him to dumb down the spell into simple cheat sheets.

He told James, "I'll make all of you careful notes, of course, but you will at least read over the full text, won't you? This goes all the way to the level of his cells, his genetics, not just a fancy illusion. If we do this, it's going to last longer than a few hours. What if it lasts days, or weeks?"

James laughed. "That's Sev's problem, and the point of the whole joke. Can you imagine, how messed up he'll be, walking around like that? We won't see him in class for a week. If that asshole wasn't scared of me, he will be after this."

Peter couldn't quite get James to see that a joke that hurt someone bad enough to make them miss class, to make their lives hell even for a little while, was bordering on exactly the level of crime Remus mentioned. Sirius avoided eye-contact, but he caught Remus sharing the same thought. Remus's wry smile told Peter it was useless to argue with James, this was too exciting a prospect. Yes, this was all perfectly illegal. But if it worked, they were counting on Snape being too mortified to tell anyone. After all, who would?

As if reading his mind, James made another toast. "To shameful secrets."  
This time, they waited for Peter. Their silence emphasized a new plateau of agreement, one that separated obedient students from independent thinkers. Their eyes dared Peter to back out, and Peter actually wondered if James was ambitious enough to make the spell work without his help. If James actually read the text, he was sure to bulldoze over some detail and botch its execution. This way, with Peter's cheat sheets, Peter could at least oversee the spell's careful application. It could save Snape's life. At least, this is what he told himself when he raised his glass to theirs.

***  
Severus knew that he was being followed. Knew it, and traced it back to the Gryffindor bullies.

"Your body is very intelligent, Severus," his mother, Eileen Prince-Snape, had told him. "It's an antenna. If you learn how to listen to it, it will tell you what you need to know."

He paused between classes, to take in the courtyard, the students, and the monolithic walls around him. In his own subtle way, he appreciated it all. Contrary to popular belief, he did like it here. The people were not his favorite, but that would always be the case. He fantasized having the castle to himself. Well, he wouldn't really be by himself. He'd have the company of entities who played in his thoughts. Physical people, the only people considered to be real, were so clingy and expectant, and took their affection away the minute you didn't do what they wanted you to do.

He was never going to be more than tolerant of physical people. That didn't mean he didn't feel affection for them, he just couldn't let himself be tortured by their whims, clicks and an etiquette that didn't quite make sense to him. Why should it? His mind could stretch so far from his physical body, that he considered himself to be more non-physical than physical. As lost as he could get inside the pages of a book, as real as any spell vividly outlined itself before him, he knew he had to be both. All people, he considered, were entities that tuned into, and away from, their bodies all the time. He was just fortunate to know it, in a world where most did not.

He forgave people for not understanding him. Even the stupid kids. Loneliness did not torture him so much as others needing him to behave within their expectations. As long as they left him to his focus, and didn't break his concentration, he dismissed any awkwardness that arose.

The truth was, no one knew what a kingdom his mind was. No one knew the freedom he enjoyed in it. He couldn't have others intruding where they could not appreciate. There, in the vaults of his mind, he wasn't some misfit others couldn't relate to. He was special. Royal. Valuable. His true peers were not of this world. They loved and missed him, and he them. But he had agreed to help this place, he knew it couldn't possibly be anything like his true home. There were so few beings of his caliber, that he knew he had signed up to be a light, cloaked in utter darkness, for those too world-wise and dimwitted to see. He didn't remember everything, but his body, sure to his mother's words, told him what he was through pure knowing.

"You are different, Severus. I made you that way. Think nothing of those idiots who stare at you. You are perfect."

He remembered her telling him this, on a Wednesday, a wash day. He was nine and he helped her hang all the laundry out to dry behind their cottage. She spelled a glorious breeze to circulate on the line. Air magic was her favorite. He knew muggles, like his father, thought a witch should just be able to instantly dry clothes with her magic. There were spells for that, but he couldn't explain to his father what it felt like to commune with the wind until you enticed it to flow in a path of your own design. A part of you rode with it, and delighted on the ride. His mother showed off by having the breeze increase strongly enough to blow their hair and clothes. It only swirled around the line, not even extending to the gate surrounding their yard, but it felt powerful to a child's sensibilities.

When she smiled, it made him want to imitate the constellation of freckles that stretched around her mouth. Those, and her friendly banter, were what people complimented her on. He had not inherited her freckles, but he did have her hair. He heard other witches call his mother 'anorexic' and 'anemic' when she'd turn her back. But they always marveled at her hair. 'How can such a thin, sick body make such beautiful locks?' they'd whisper, as if she had no right to it. He learned to count the seconds before they turned to him and murmured, "It's the blood. He's got it too."

"He's beautiful, but she ain't had no kind of health since him. Those pretty teeth ain't hers. She lost all of them the first year she had him. I remember."

"Serves her right, doing what she did to get that child. What about them other babies?"

"Shhh… He's listening."

He heard older people refer to his mother as a child-bride, but he wouldn't understand until decades of adulthood, why his bond with her was so close. She taught him everything at home, reading, writing, and magic, before he ever entered a classroom. If his social skills were a little underdeveloped, his delight with learning was far advanced than that of most children his age. If he didn't always talk in the presence of company, it didn't mean that he was shy, or slow. It meant he knew the value of keeping his mouth shut around people he did not like.

"Whenever you remember the wind touching you, you have its attention," Eileen had told him, "You have a connection. Make a line in your mind, of pattern you want it to make. If you practice, your magic will have gusts going anywhere you want them to."

Her preference for old magic, was a way to teach him her traditions. They would finish their chores and she still had time to tell him a story while her nimble, young fingers peeled potatoes for their dinner.

Childhood fables had given him a wealth of imaginary corridors, lined with billowing grass fields, as far as the eye could see. His mother's tales led to halls of universes, levels of life in other star systems, and to secret histories the world knew nothing about. Long after she fell silent, long after he lay in bed at night, he revisited those places. He mined ideas and solutions from those adventures and put them together in his daily life, like a secret, holy, caretaker of the world around him. He was in charge of making new things with the same old materials, and improving the conditions of those less knowing.

No matter how much the practicalities of daily life demanded his attention, a shaft of light on the pages of a cracked leather book, instantly connected him to the royal heritage of his mind and all the magic there. No matter the contents of the book. When he confided to his mother, telling her of the inner worlds, where everything in his being told him he had a great and royal purpose, she merely tilted her head and smiled. This annoyed him, as he wanted answers, and if anybody could give him answers, it was her. She knew everything.

"Am I just being imaginary? Because I read so much, like Father says?"

She shook her head. "You mean, are you just imagining all those good-feeling things? Or, are they real?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. If they're not real, then why do I see and hear them? Why do my imaginary friends tell me they will take the form of Blue Jays, and the next day, there are four Blue Jays at the window? When you lost your wedding ring, I dreamt that fairies in the grass, said the water spirit deliberately stole it while you were washing the laundry. They showed me where it lay hidden among the stones. They said the river spirit was terribly envious of you. If I can find your ring from imaginary instructions, then why isn't it real? Why isn't everything I'm being told real?"

Her answer surprised him. "Because you don't want everything to be real, Sev. Some things, you want to stay ideas. That way, they can't get loose and frighten anyone. Other things, like my ring, you don't mind crossing over into this world. Your imagination lets you decide. You get to decide what will be your reality. Don't listen to people who are afraid of their imaginations. How else is our power supposed to talk to us? It has to be closer to us than words."

Since that day, he held both worlds as being valid. Imaginary and physical, he decided, were simply degrees of the same ever-changing reality. They were there to be used, for the person who knew how to do it.

Long before he got his Hogwarts letter, he saw himself achieving a level of mastery that acted like a bridge, allowing others to pass a dark crevasse. Because he would know things, others were spared the many years it took to know them. Because he came before them, others would find the journey made easier. Because he did not require constant human contact, he could specialize in his interests without neglecting the needs of companions. Friendship was wonderful, when it was compatible, which was so seldom the case for him. The only friends he ever saw in his mind, were the ones telling him that his life would be worth the challenges. He must not give up, and they were not only waiting for him, but taking every step with him on his mission.

Severus's childhood visions had not let him down. Here he was, studying magic in a magical fortress. And although thousands attended school here, and elsewhere, how many of them had the presence of mind to know they were one of the few, living the freedom to shine their minds into the farthest, darkest reaches beyond mankind's limitations? While classes, for many, were only a means to go from childhood to adult servitude, he understood that Hogwarts was a gift. His education was an honor. It wasn't about becoming something when he reached adulthood. It was about being what he was now. At Hogwarts, he was free to be the wizard he knew himself to be. At home, he always had to negotiate his abilities around his muggle father.

It was a privilege to be here, even if he had to put up with the likes of James and his friends. He looked around. Daylight drenched everything perfectly, casting a bright appeal to even the moodiest of student faces. He admired the outdoors the same way he admired women. It was a lovely, even dramatic work of art, with all its colors and open abundance, but he could not obligate himself to it. Exposure to the elements had its charm, when it wasn't freezing or burning you from one extreme to the other. The wildness of nature was better appreciated from behind a pane of glass.

He pretended he could not feel the interest of the two following him. Now that he knew they were there, their feet stepped on his energy exactly the way they would've caught on his robe. It was very uncomfortable to have them trailing him. It tempted him to turn and confront them. Before he did, an unexpected student crossed his path. Copper-colored pigtails and a bubble gum smile flashed him.

"Hi, Severus, are you busy?"

The question was so obvious, he waited for her to realize the answer.

Patricia Hershey, a sixth-year Ravenclaw, had not quite grown into her adult-sized overbite. Snape found this inconsistency in her beauty, the most interesting thing about her.

"Sorry, I just told Professor McGonagall I'd tell you if I saw you. The Headmaster wants you to come straight to his office."

"I have Divinations in ten minutes."

She shrugged. "All I know is what she told me. See ya." She twirled and dashed over the courtyard.

He frowned. It was going to take ten minutes just to get halfway to Dumbledore's office, even if he walked very fast. He decided to continue to Divinations, if for no other reason than to let Trelawney know the reason for his absence. Dumbledore might've notified her, but until he was certain, he would not risk tardiness.

They wore hooded cloaks. They waited until he'd passed through the balustrade, between the North-facing wing of the castle, and the astronomy tower. They hadn't counted on him ignoring a serious request like that, and going ahead to class. They were still stumbling over their guffaws at his nerve, when Severus doubled back through the courtyard and headed for the Headmaster's in earnest. One could take many passages to Dumbledore's office, but from that courtyard, only one path, the shortest, made sense.

They grabbed him in the shadows. Snape's long limbs gave them a proper struggle before James, Sirius, and Remus, wrestled him into the bathroom. Peter was supposed to be their lookout, but his eyes followed Severus's struggle across the tiles. They watched his shoes slipping for purchase, scuffing black lines along the floor as they drug him. Through their silencing spell, only faint groans sounded below the whistle of leather soles slipping frantically to upright themselves. Snape's black panted legs twisted and kicked out of his robe, in a dance of resistance.

They drug him to the farthest stall. James stood behind Severus, holding him with one arm wrapped under his throat and the other twisting his arm behind him. Sirius and Remus were in charge of pinning Snape's limbs. Peter had been very clear about not rendering Snape fully immobile. "You don't want to risk, um, the inability of certain body parts to expand." They'd all given him credit for being able to work that out.

Patricia came out of the second stall, arms folded, tone stiff. "What took you guys so long?"

Even with the long drape of her hood, her hair peeking through, gave her away. She'd waited much longer than she'd been told, and Sirius knew from her tone, she was gonna demand more money.

"Just get busy. Peter, give her a full Galleon. Make it fast, Sweetie."

This seemed to make all the difference in the world. She brightened and smiled when Peter handed her the gold coin. "Really? You rich kids know how to treat a girl."

They had to use a light curse to let her get near Snape's violent legs. Snape watched them behind eyes that could only blink his anger, spilling wet, heated rage. His face appeared to swell beneath James's hold, and his lips curled to form words that would not pass through them. All eyes, including his, fixed on the girl and her intentions.

"Damit!" Remus shouted. "Her hood. He can see her."

"Relax," she told him. "It's just Snivelous. I'm not afraid of him. Besides, I hardly think he's going to be upset with me. With you guys, maybe. Not me."

While she spoke, her hands proceeded to expertly maneuver into Snape's lap. The boys holding Snape, paused long enough, in their mouth-open disbelief, to make sure she was going to go through with it. Only Peter and Remus looked away, just as they screwed their faces to the shock of seeing Snape's penis extracted from its concealment. They quickly looked back. As uncomfortably embarrassing as it was, even for them, they were not going to miss one outrageous minute. Even if it made them puke.

That was the attitude going into it. But as soon as Patricia bent forward and fastened her lips around it, their attitudes promptly adjusted to the new situation. If it wasn't appealing, it certainly became interesting. Unformed protests ruptured through Snape. His, were the sounds of someone getting the air punched from his guts. They were silent suctions of inadequate rasps, and the tortured hiss that accompanied his helplessness.

Patricia could multi-task, noisily, and they all saw that her efforts had to be complimented as Snape's body did what any man's body would do. She abused him as if it were her passion and galleons had nothing to do with it.

"He's a bloody man, after all," James strained. "This is the perfect time for a haircut."

They had not discussed cutting Snape's hair, but no one was really surprised to see James pull out the scissors. He'd been fixated on the hair from the start. He and Sirius took turns holding Snape while each hacked as much off as his thick mane would allow. He squirmed under the attack at both ends of his person.

Nobody knew how he did it. When it happened, all they knew was that Snape was responsible. Wandless, and flustered from mistreatment, he somehow lashed out at Patricia. The force jerked her from his body, and flung her back, crashing against the far wall. This crises had the boys looking with fear at each other, not knowing if they could risk Snape's escape by checking on her. Remus insisted Peter be the one to check on Patricia's slumped body.

Peter trembled from his spot by the door. "Perhaps we should give up. What if she's dead? What if her back is broken?"

Sirius yelled at him. "Shut the fuck up and check on her." He turned to Snape. "You. You like hitting women?" He struck Snape across the face before the question was barely out. "Let's see you try that wandless shite on me." He struck two more times. Snape's expression grew colder with each one.

Remus saw Patricia's head lift when Peter knelt by her. "See if she's got a concussion. Ask her what her name is."

Peter didn't have to. Patricia's head snapped up at him. She jerked away. "Fuck you, you didn't say he would hit me. I'm not into this." She launched from the floor and threw herself out the exit.

"And there goes the galleon," Remus sighed.

"Gents, turn your heads, do whatever you have to do. I ain't risking expulsion empty-handed. Peter, get the fuck over here and help hold him."

"Me? That wasn't part of the plan."

Remus groaned. "Peter you're already knee-deep, same as the rest of us."

"Well, what're you going to do? She's gone, we've failed."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, will somebody Cruciatus him already?"

James yelled, "Get over here, Peter. Sirius knows spells, remember?"

"Yeah, mate. Spells."

When Peter knelt, grasping Snape in just the way that Sirius showed him, his body shrank against the close proximity of the other boys, especially in full view of Snape's exposed organ. He could feel everyone's overheated stress, lifting male odors in a fume around them. He couldn't stop himself from looking. It was just there, and it should not've been. And it was thick and long, and pink-red and smooth and hard and way more perfect than any man's ought to be.

It was bad enough that Snape was tall, smart, and possessed that kind of pale darkness that girls seemed to like, he had a cock that wasn't discolored, distended, lopsided, mushroomed, or otherwise deformed by a variety of details that left women pursing their lips in rejection. Patricia had gone after it like it was the first steak she'd ever tasted. Why on Earth would one man be allowed to have so much natural beauty? Cocks weren't supposed to be beautiful. They were monstrous, ugly things, even the smallest of them, and that's the way nature meant it. Everyone knew why James cut his hair. This bull had to lose something being flaunted in front of them.

Peter was just getting into his envy of Snape, when Sirius surprised them all by lunging, face first, into Snape's crotch.

"Whoa." Remus and James almost let go, wholly unprepared for it. Peter did let go, shrieking against what his eyes could never unsee again. Fortunately, Snape couldn't really move, but James wasn't taking that chance. "Get your arse back on him."

Peter obeyed, closing his eyes. But that only made Sirius's wet, sucking noises worse. Peter's stomach rolled. Beneath his hands and against him, Snape's muscles vibrated and jumped at the sensation being forced upon them. If Patricia had been comfortable between Snape's legs, Sirius made himself completely at home. His jaw worked like he was driving home a point. His head tore at Snape like a dog ripping at raw meet. At one point, Peter almost felt sorry for Snape, that he couldn't at least give full release to the shudders and screams locked inside his body. Snape threw his head back, against James, and thrashed his head from side to side in an effort to escape Sirius's torture.

As Peter wondered how any man could keep from spending himself ten times over by now, he realized, that it was taking so long, and Sirius was working so hard, because Snape was holding back. He didn't know if James's spell was wearing off, or if Snape's fight was growing more aggressive. But Snape's body arched into a rigid contortion that threatened to break Peter's hold on him. It dawned on him, what was happening, and he made his eyes focus on Sirius's lips connecting to Snape, and the fluid escaping them. It wasn't like he wanted to see it, but when would something like this ever be visible again? It's not like this was the sort of thing found in your run-of-the mil wizard pornography. This was serious shite, and kinda hot while it was happening.

Until Sirius lifted his head and frantically motioned to Peter, Peter was only then reminded of his crucial role. "It's in my pocket." He twisted his coat pocket towards Sirius, who fished for it, pulled out a clear plastic tube, and spat as much as he could into it."

Groans of amazement and disgust echoed off the bathroom walls.

A final spell to render Snape fully immobile, had them releasing him in peels of exhilarated laughter.

"Are you believing that?!" Remus shouted after Sirius, who jumped up and ran for the sink. He and James pushed from the floor, brushed themselves off, and fell against each other, pointing at Sirius franticly rinsing his mouth. They must've laughed for a full three minutes, before anyone could catch their breath to speak.

"Who knew you were so talented?" Remus asked. "So, uh, you wanna date sometime?"

"Fuck off. It's just 'cause I know how I'd please me. I've never fucking done that before."

"None of us are buying that."

"Geesh, can't a guy have cousins, and maybe practice with somebody he fucking trusts? God, you suck one dick you're branded for life."

"Yes, you are, my friend." James agreed.

They don't bother to obliviate Snape before they leave. They want him to burn with shame.

He lay there long after their laughter fades. He intends to move as soon as the spell wears off. He can see his chopped hair laying in mutilated strands over his clothing and creating a mesh entanglement on the floor. He tries to will his muscles to relax, hoping the spell will wear off faster. Now that he is alone, his heart starts to slow to its normal rate and his eyes scan everything within their field, for a glimpse of his wand. He sees it, rolled against a stall, where it met flush with the floor.

He remembers his mother words, and that day they stood amid billowing sheets and linens. "Your body is very intelligent, Severus. It's an antenna. If you learn how to listen to it, it will tell you what you need to know."

He saw the wind lift her hair. He felt the air wrap around him.

"You are different, Severus. I made you that way."

 _I made you that way._

He took hold of the breeze in his memory, let if fill him, then cast it out to his wand.

"Whenever you remember the wind touching you, you have its attention. You have a connection. Make a line in your mind, of the pattern you want it to make. If you practice, your magic will have gusts going anywhere you want them to."

The wind from that day, followed along a lasso of thrown thought, whipped along its curve, and blew his wand gently towards his body. It rolled, inch by inch, against his fingers. The contact stimulated enough of his magic to allow a surge to break him free from the spell. His muscles jumped a their freedom. His body shuddered with relief. He fixed his clothing and pushed himself up against the wall.

The wind spell was how he'd gotten Patricia off of him. He hadn't meant to hurt her, just to free himself. He'd never had to use that much force with it before. After he did it, he hadn't had the energy or the focus to do the same to Sirius.

He wanted to race for the cover, and dignity, of his room. But there was more privacy in this bathroom than there would be in his shared quarters. So he let his sobs come. He closed his eyes against them, and let them do their worst. Then he remembered another spell.

Yule was fast approaching and snow made the outdoors glow. His mother got him out of bed especially early.

"Today, Sev, I'm going to show you how to slaughter your first pig."

The idea was not especially appealing to him, even though he liked bacon as much as anyone else. The look on his face must've said so.

"Don't worry, Sev. Mussy has to be put down anyway. We'll be gentle. But once she's gone, that carcass has a lot to teach you."

He'd seen plenty of animals on the chopping block, the muggle way of doing it. His father's way of doing it. His mother's spell had their hog asleep in five minutes, and unresponsive in ten. "You have to value a better way, before it will come to you," she said softly, stroking the animal. "She's gone now. We can begin."

She tied the hog's hind quarters to a hook and had him hoist the animal into position over a vat. He had no idea why she didn't just levitate it. Her skinny arms trembled under the strain. At twelve, he wanted to feel proud that he was finally stronger than her, but something about the way the effort winded her, and had her stepping back to let him do most of the physical work, just made him feel guilty for having more strength than she did.

When the hog was in place, she handed him the sharpest knife from their kitchen. "I want you to cut her from end to end. Cut her deep. When you do, memorize everything about it. Every splitting tissue. You're going to have feed that information into your wand. You're going to have to mimic, every tearing sensation. That's very important. Got it?"

He nodded, but the idea was so strange and abhorrent to him, that he couldn't hide the fact that he just didn't want to.

"Sev, we're building a weapon. Self-defense. All the witches and wizards in my family are taught this. You're growing up, and you're going to need to know how to get a man, twice your size, off of you. I gave you all the magic I could give, but I didn't do you any favors with all that hair and that sweet face."

She touched his hair. "If I could dye it, or cut it, I would. You'll have to wait until you're a grown wizard. You'll be able to work the spells that keep it. Mother's just a little too tired to keep those up. Besides, now's the time to let your magic run wild. No apologies. I'll not take that away from you."

When she asked him to cut into the hog again, this time he did so. His whole body tensed at the sight of animal's furry belly stretching and splitting away from the blade. Skin parted like wrinkled tissue paper. He thought he'd get to stop when the blood gushed down his arm, but his mother encouraged him to keep going.

"Stop making that face. Pay attention to what the knife is telling you. Your wand will only be as effective as your firsthand knowledge of what a knife can do."

Behind the skin, there was another lining. His knife had only gone deep enough to perforate it, allowing intestines and organs to bulge through.

"I want you to know, that it's okay to kill a man, Severus, if that person tries to seriously harm you. The law might say differently, but I say, anyone who inflicts harm upon you, has laid down their life. There's not a law under heaven that can protect them. Keep cutting. No, don't look at me. Look at the carcass. "

His arm was getting tired. Maybe he wasn't as strong as he thought. The deeper he tried to cut, the harder it was to pull the knife down. Slick blood only made matters worse. His fingers couldn't maintain a grip on it.

"I see the boys picking on you. I see your father's embarrassment. I tell you, they can all go to hell. Nobody's going to mistreat my son. If you have to stand here all day, smelling this blood and bile, until you know how to cut a man deep, you will do so."

His arm ached. He wiped the knife on his shirt and started with his other hand.

"If anyone puts a hand to you, I want you to show them that it will not be tolerated. Try to kill them, or make them think that you would. You must hurt them so badly, that they never attempt to cross you again. That is our way. I promise you, you have magic inside of you that will defend your actions. We didn't burn for nothing. We burned to create a greater magic. Every cell in your body, stands upon the magic of witches burned alive. Like mine, your hair tells their story. It gives a voice to those who were not allowed to have one. It will not be silenced. It will not be cut. It will wave before the eyes of men, and denounce their laws and values. And when they try to put you in your place, when they try to make you feel you have no place in this world, the witches who contributed to your blood, will rise up and fight your enemies for you."

He had stopped trying to cut the animal completely. His arms needed to rest and she didn't seem upset with him.

"I stopped Mussy's heart because I know what it feels like to drive a knife through one. My wand knows, my magic knows. Once you know what it is, to drive a weapon deep into muscle and gut, you can kill a thousand men without ever picking up one knife. Defend yourself, Severus. You are so gentle with your books and your dreams. Your magic will make you desirable to men. That is merely the witches delighting in what they can feel of your body and vitality. Their time to shine was cut short. They will amplify your attractiveness all the more. And men will resent it. You may love any you choose, man or woman, but do not neglect to defend your honor."

When Severus stood from the bathroom floor, he knew he had to revisit his mother's spell. Make adjustments, improvements. He was already so far ahead in his studies that he could afford to ask the Headmaster for a week from his classes. He had a lot of planning to do. The idea of strategy, of inflicting irreversible damage upon the Gryffindors responsible, gave him something pleasant to think about.

He caught his reflection in the mirror over the basin. He walked towards it. In the mirror, a young man, shaken and pallid, stared back, amazed. Hair, left in hacked ropes, lay behind him on the floor. But the person looking back at him, had hair down the length of his chest and back. Much longer than before. He wasn't too surprised. He had tried to cut it once before. It did not obey scissors. Those witches dishing out his magic, were vain entities. They gave him such energy, such brilliant inspiration at times. The least he could do, was let them have their fun.


	3. Weapons of Vanity

**Note:** This is really only half the chapter.

He ran home from his first day of school. The kids had laughed at his hair. His mother could not coax him out of the garden, not even with blueberry dumplings. Their home was a garden-walled cottage on the outskirts of their village. They had the corner lane to themselves, and allowed their property to grow flush against the wild grass and woods beyond. Their neighbor's hedges and fences stretched in orderly, cobblestone lines in one direction, while wild overgrowth marked the ending of their street and extended to a thin strip of forest that all the villagers used for occasional hunting.

No matter how Tobias Snape worked to modernized their two-story, timbre and brick dwelling, his wife Eileen insisted on keeping chickens, growing her own vegetables, and raising a few pigs. While her surname, Prince, connected her to old money, she had grown so far removed from financial comfort, that she took solace in being able to keep food on their table, even when her husband struggled to do so. She loved living independently from his wages. She loved being strong enough to do so, even if her delicate body had limits. A petite woman had to invent her own ways of accomplishing what a man could do. Whenever she looked at the dry, cracked skin around her fingernails, and thought on the silk dresses and servants of her childhood, she looked around the room until her eyes found Severus. There was her wealth. There was her silk. All eyelashes and shiny, midnight hair, returned her smile.

Now she spied him from the kitchen window. He'd gone beyond the back fence, straight to the wild grass on the other side. She knew this would happen. Now that it had, she could have the talk with him. She dried her hands and joined him.

"I'm the only boy with hair this long. Why can't I cut it?"

Eileen still had so many chores to finish. It was too early in the day for letting up on her pace. But she could see that this was an important moment. If she could appease that trembling line taking up one-third of her son's frown, then he would soak up her knowledge as well as her comfort. She folded herself beside him on the grass and scooted close.

"You can try to cut it. But it always grows back. The best I could do, was ask it to stay the length it is. It has a will of its own."

"Why?"

"Your magic," she shrugged. "Your body brings it forth the same way it makes you taller. Other wizards must discard their hair the same way they relieve themselves. It's of no more consequence than that. But that which you acquire, is not waste. It's where your magic goes when your body has no other place to put it. In time, you will learn to put more of it into your intention and desires. You may even shorten it."

"Why are girls allowed to have it so long, and boys not?"

"Both are allowed, or it wouldn't happen to either. Opinions are simply foolish. That's why I didn't want you going to school and learning all that foolishness until you were old enough to question it."

She saw that his shoulders had let go of their rigidity and his spine slumped a little as he relaxed beside her. He moved his foot to allow a caterpillar to pass along the grass.

"Is it because of the girl babies?"

"Girl babies?"

"The ladies at market whisper after they say hi to you. They say you used girl babies that were never born. Dark magic. And that I have their hair. They say I'm cursed and you are too."

She sighed, smiling. It was just too fitting, and no surprise at all. "Oh Severus, pay no attention to them. They misunderstand something they were never invited to understand. You grew in my womb, not theirs. You were given to me, to shape as I would. It's true that your father gave me other children before you. None were as healthy as you were, so they were never born. I've learned to think on them as all being you, trying to get to me. Trying to get a body worthy of your magic. Those children would've been like your father. They would've had no magic."

His eyes were wide. "I had brothers and sisters?"

"Not as real as you. None lived beyond a few months of my learning they were there. I tried to have a baby many times. I used magic to persuade my ancestors to help give me a child of any gender. The women of my line came to my aid, under the condition that I share you with them. Let them align with you so that they could taste the deliciousness of life denied them. They are harmless to you. They owe the window they have in this world, to you, and would do nothing to upset you.

"Some of them remember the trauma of being burned at the stake. I came into this life remembering it and waking up from the pain in my feet and legs. Those witches may have a particular bias against men in general, who deal out punishment without regard for what they do not understand. But they adore you. You speak for them. In their minds, you are what a man should be. They have softened the sharp edges. Let them play with your hair. It's not much to ask.

"You've no idea the pleasure a girl gets from brushing her doll's tresses. If she is impoverished in beauty, her heart is made wealthy by her play. Be brave and let the other kids go to their graves with their silly words. Your hair is more purposeful than I can tell you. It issues a warning for those with the magic to read it. It warns them of the magic beneath, and not to disrespect it. Be patient with boys who want to touch it, and blame you for tempting them. The witches take great delight in giving in to no man."

The idea of having extra magic in his hair, and being protected by powerful witches like his mother, even if they were dead, cheered him up. She talked him into helping with dinner. As he did, another question came to him.

"Why are women so vain when it comes to hair?"

Steaming pots flushed his mother's face. She lifted a lid, added water to her beans, and patiently answered, "There was a time, Severus, when the only power of influence a woman had, was her hair. She could not own property, she could not even control money or her marriage. If she had brains and an independent will, she was looked upon with suspicion. Possibly punished. So she learned, very quickly, to use her tresses as her most visible asset. Some even turned it into a weapon, using it to charm their way to power and to beat those of lesser means to the quick. This is what lies behind all vanity. But that was survival, and we never have to go back that old way again. Castles are beautiful in storybooks, but the real ones are drenched in blood and competition. This is why some chop off all their hair, or keep it short. It is their way of saying they are in no one's control."

"Why do you keep yours long?"

"Because I like wild, growing things. The fire no longer burns at my feet. I've mastered it so that it burns from my head. I was born into life with the same ones who hurt me. They are women with no power now, so that they can see what it's like to be at another's mercy. The ladies in the market, are the judges and lawmakers of old. They were cruel men. My hair is my way of showing them they did not destroy me. Magic doesn't die, Severus. It remembers and it comes back stronger."

At Hogwarts, Severus labored over his plans, allowing his schoolwork, and his life, to grow like sprawling vines beyond the confines of previous, organized boundaries. As he let himself fall hypnotically into a focus that could not be disturbed, his appearance acclimated to the overgrowth of his ambitions and reflected the concentration of his magic.

Neglect, just as it cast delicious challenge to the assignments piling up, saw him disregard his appearance even more. His hair grew more audacious, and his robes more disheveled, as the days wore on. Long hours through the night saw his head bent over candles and books in a storage room seldom utilized by the elves that maintained custodial duties. All social etiquette ceased, until he abandoned even the effort of grooming. Turns out, there was a limit to how long the influence in his blood would let him ignore his body.

When he refused to shave, the witches suppressed the need to do so. At first this was a detail so subtle, he dismissed it. But when the wrinkles and dust on his threadbare robes were replaced by black fabric that repelled even spilt ink, he had to acknowledge that he was getting help with his own maintenance. The witches, his mother's ancestors speaking to him from his cells, welcomed all the unruly chaos of raw magic, but they, apparently, could not abide stubble and disarray. They liked clean, smooth, things. This is why he found himself in shock at the sight of his full-length reflection in the common room mirror.

While the witches didn't speak to him with independent voices, they got their point across. From head to toe, they persuaded the cut of his robes to become more precise, the dye to take on a new, lustrous darkness, and layered him in an ensemble of black, straight lines and curved grace. Because of his height, and because of their pride, the effect amplified itself like a spell. At first, his straight hair merely outlined his head and shoulders. But it also took on an imbued thickness that caused it to wind in elongated bands too heavy to curl. At first he cringed from how noticeable the change was, how bold and embarrassingly dramatic. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.

"That's enough. Please stop doing this to me," he insisted.

He understood that they were helping him, that their magic and his overlapped. He had agreed to let them decorate and play with his physical vessel, to the extent that it did not interfere with his concentration. It was like having a hundred mothers and sisters all making a fuss over him. He understood that it was their way of touching him and drawing as near they could, to the pleasure of physical life.

 _Be seen. Don't be afraid to let them see you._

Had he always been a channel for them? Why was it, that he could feel them now and not before?

 _You are ready now._

Why him?

 _Because you agreed to come forth. She refused those other children. She chose you. She crafted the child she wanted._

Sometimes, the witches were more helpful. They drew his eye to the book and the perfect spell to assist in dealing with the Gryffindor bullies. The irony that it required his hair, was not lost on him. He prepared four empty wand boxes with slick, wet braided strands. Each braid was soaked in spelled ink, from which instructions had been written. To test them, he induced a trance state within himself and spoke the names of the four offenders in his mind. Drying hair fibers took on a glistening sheen as the ink rewet itself and swelled along the strands. One by one, the loops of the braids expanded into the rounded, exoskeletons of black scorpions. He let them crawl around in their boxes before speaking the one-word command that had them returning to their placid, outstretched form.

The spell was centuries old, and used mostly by women in retaliation against unfaithful men. Instructions called for the gift box to be lined in red silk, and tied with red ribbon, denoting a lover's affection. Severus substituted the color with black. Those fiends deserved no such festivity and no such affection. The scorpions were programmed with poison, in written form, and would deliver a binding sting to the one presented with it. Women of old, could then script unfortunate accidents and mishaps carried out by their poisoned lovers. The insects could be released and allowed to find their targets on their own, leaving the recipient ignorant of the sender. But Severus wasn't about to deny himself the pleasure of seeing their faces when he presented these gifts to them. What awaited James and his friends, were far beyond the petty grievances of jilted lovers. The scorpions were merely a way into their minds. From there, the real spell would begin.

One week away from classes became two. Severus kept his teachers pleased by turning in his assignments on time, in spite of his absence. All the while, he felt his energy spilling out into the life around him. It made him realize how contained and controlled he'd kept it, for fear of upsetting anyone. First his muggle father, then their muggle neighbors, then his classmates. He became accustomed to restraining himself. It felt strange to let his essence have fuller range and not care what anyone thought.

By the time any of his Hogwarts classmates saw him again, he wore a finer cut to his robes, walked even more briskly, and allowed his hair to trail behind him like black fire. His manner remained guarded against the four Gryffindors who hooted and laughed when they saw him enter Slughorn's class five minutes late. He paused long enough in the doorway, to let it dawn on them, that he was never late. They fell silent when he started towards them. If they noticed his re-grown, fuller, sinisterly inappropriate hair, he let them stare, open mouthed.

He didn't come to attend class, he came to single them out. He would not attack them with cowardice, in the cover of shadows and bathroom echoes. He would not pay others to dirty their hands for him. He would do this openly and let it unravel as it would.

Slughorn stopped, mid-sentence in his lecture. "Ah, Mr. Snape, I was not expecting you today. Pipe down, Sirius. Please, Severus, take your seat."

He had no intention of taking a seat. The knowing smiles from James and Sirius's faces dissolved as he zeroed in on them. He passed Slughorn, crossed the floor, and swept in front of the table shared by them. Remus and Peter stood, shocked, at burners behind them. He didn't let them speak. In a flourish, he placed each box to its owner, slamming it down with non negotiable firmness. He spoke their names out loud as he did so. That part of the spell was complete.

James was the first to recover from his surprise. "Jeez, he's like a two-headed hydra. Cut one head off, and it grows three more. I knew you were a creepy git. What's this? Gifts for all of us?"

"Look who's here," Sirius grinned. "Now, Snape, if you're going to bring treats, you should have them for everyone."

Slughorn cleared his throat. "I say, Severus, you're disrupting my class. This is highly irregular."

Snape lifted the flat of his hand, suppressing the next words from Slughorn's mouth.

"Don't open it, James!" Remus called from behind. Beside him, Peter had already pulled the ribbon on his box. He stopped, pausing to look at his friends for guidance.

Sirius shoved his box over the edge of the table. "Oops. Shame such lovely gift wrapping's wasted. What makes your slimy head think we're going to open a box of poisoned snakes, or whatever? At least be clever about it, man."

James proved he had nothing to fear. "I'll play with you, Sev. Seeing as how nobody bloody likes you. I'm not afraid of snakes." He ripped the box open and squinted at the odd object inside. "Okay… I'm guessing this is a curse?"

He picked the braid up. "You shouldn't have. What the hell is this?"

Jame's boldness, gave Peter the courage to open his box. "I've got the same thing."

Remus picked up his box and slammed it back down in front of Severus. "No, thank you. This is an invitational spell and I do not accept it. It takes the form of a gift, to lure you into taking on the curse. How stupid do you think we are?"

While Severus did not gloat or even smile, his satisfaction was none the less apparent as he leveled his gaze at Remus and said, "Quite stupid." His eyes raked over all of them, lingering on James, before he turned.

Slughorn's jowls ballooned into outrage. Severus passed by him, exiting as inexplicably as he had arrived. He heard Peter Petegrew's shout from tables, "It won't come off. What is it? What is it!"

Peter was frantically rubbing his hands on his robe and any cloth he could find. He stumbled into the table behind him, knocked over his classmate's cauldron, and ran screaming through the other students standing in his way. "It burns! It's a burning curse!" His shouts were heard far out into the hall.

"Holy shite!" James was the second to shout. This time, Slughorn could see that his outstretched hands had become stained and black with an inky substance that produced oil slick smears on the boxes Severus presented.

Remus pressed Jame's shoulder. "Go wash it off," he insisted. He thanked himself for not opening the box given to him. He leaned forward, urging James. "Hurry. It works with your fear of not knowing what he's done." When he pulled back, stickiness kept the fabric attached to his hand. He saw that his own palm was emitting a dark stain that spread over its surface. His eyes shifted to the tingling his other hand. It too, was stained. Splotches grew between his fingers and on the backs. His feet moved, struggling to navigate the tables and students who stepped out of his way, so as not to become contaminated with whatever curse this was. Everyone saw both of his hands turn pitch black, as if he'd dipped them in ink. He scrambled out of the classroom behind James.

With his friends gone, Sirius felt all eyes on him. He dogged Slughorn's stricken expression, slumping. He refused to tell what he knew, congratulating himself on being the only one of his friends smart enough to toss the rubbish box off of his desk. When Slughorn stepped up to him, Sirius folded his arms and turned his head, prepared to accept any detention rather than rat on his friends.

"Son, that's a very serious curse. What could possibly upset Severus so?"

Sirius smiled. "Beats me. Too sensitive for his own good, is all I know."

His cheerful façade did not fool Slughorn. "If you go to the Headmaster right now, he will be able to help you. He'll sort this out and make Severus remove the curse. I'd wager, an apology from your friends to Severus, will be in order."

"Apology? What do you know? That self-absorbed loon comes in here with his garbage, hurts my friends, and I'm the one who should apologize?"

"Look at your hands, Mr. Black." Slughorn stood firm until he did so.

Sirius's lip twitched as he brought his hands from beneath his arms and held them out. He hadn't even touched his box. Not more than to shove it off the table. Yet the stains spread like self-inking tattoos under his skin. He chewed his lips, biting down on his anger. "That bloody snake! How'd he do it?"

Slughorn repeated. "Go to Dumbledore before this goes any further. Only he can help you now."


	4. Warriors in the Woods

**Note:** This has not been proofread. Read at your own risk. Give me 24 hours.

"The Severus I know, goes out of his way to avoid confrontation," the Headmaster was saying.

James and his friends answered to Dumbledore's summons, right after Professor Slughorn turned them in. In his office, the four Gryffindors stood humbled between them. Their black hands were hidden behind their backs, yet none of them offered the information Dumbledore asked for.

"His arranged absences from his classes take on added mystery. He's not missed an assignment, ranks topmost in his academic efforts, yet he storms into Professor Slughorn's class with such disrespectful gumption -"

"Disrespectful," agreed Slughorn.

"- and threatens you four as publicly as any challenge to duel. And the fact that none of you are willing to divulge the secret as to why such a bookworm picks up weapons against you, leaves me to think he might have a very good reason for doing so."

Dumbledore's office was always too warm and smelled of hard candy and licorice. The former Headmasters, the ones not dozing, always sneered at you from their frames, as if the other paintings in the school had already informed them of your wrongdoing. Sirius wanted Dumbeldore to just ask some of the other sodding headmasters, if he really wanted to know what they'd done.

Sirius anticipated the usual threat of expulsion, under which, Peter would throw himself at Dumbledore's mercy and tell everything. That's usually the way it happened. All of them kept stealing side glances at Peter who kept his eyes averted.

"I don't think you boys realize the curse that stains your skin. We've discarded the boxes safely, but you are already bound to whatever designs Severus has written with that very ink. It could be anything from a harmless prank that ends with clean hands in a few days, to something far more unsavory. I cannot adequately discipline Severus until I know the extent of the curse. And I will not discipline him if his actions have been inspired by the need to defend himself. Now speak, one of you, so that we can put this matter to rest."

Sirius was already pissed. "So why isn't Snape here? Why just us?"

Dumbledore answered softly. "He could not be found. He has not slept in the room he shares with his housemates, for many days. You know, it is quite common for issues and upsets to occur between students. Young adults should be trusted to work out their affairs to the best of their abilities. When I sense trouble between the students, I make an effort to give them the opportunity to resolve it themselves. Those who show maturity, often prevail. This is why I was not quick to rush Severus through whatever private matter kept him from classes or his bed. He had no trouble keeping up and I sensed his problem-solving skills to be as advanced as his academic gifts. I'm afraid, I may have been too trusting of his adolescent capabilities. He's still a boy, as you are all boys, and I'm going to have to insist that you reveal the matter between you."

Just as Peter trembled under the strain of answering Dumbledore, James Potter spoke up.

"It's me. Snape is angry with me. My friends are just protecting me."

Slughorn and Dumbledore tuned to him. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

While Dumbledore had stated the gift boxes were safely removed. He and Slughorn did not tell them they were found to be empty. Whatever stained their hands, they were stuck with it for the time being.

"It's a stupid joke. It involved a girl. Long story short, Snape was humiliated in front of her. We had our laughs. I'm asking for the privilege of keeping the matter private. No one got hurt, just Snape's pride. We took things too far. We do owe him an apology. And if you will trust us to do the honorable thing and find Snape, we'll do it. I want to show you that we are mature and we can resolve this feud ourselves. If you let us, we'll bring this matter to a peaceful end. Today. We'll not only apologize to Snape, we apologize now to Professor Slughorn for the disruption it caused."

The look on Slughorn's face said, 'Don't trust him, Albus.'

Dumbledore stepped forward. "James, you are quite the soldier. The leader. While that all sounds impressively big of you, can you bring yourself to respect a sensitive young man like Severus, when you approach him?"

Sirius suppressed a snicker.

"I ask, because if you fail to find Severus this evening, if you fail to show him the respect that you yourselves enjoy, his curse may harm you so seriously, you will not have another chance to approach him again. Oh, I'm not talking life-threatening, but I am talking irreversible consequences. I would hate for Hogwarts to lose even one of you in expulsion, over a schoolboy scuffle no less, let alone all five of you. If you can talk to Severus and make peace this evening, I will allow you to keep the matter to yourselves. If I have to intervene, you will be asked to give up your secrets. Now handle this, James, and make me proud."

"Yes, Headmaster. I will. Thank you."

They weren't three steps beyond Dumbledore's door, when Sirius exploded. "What the hell?"

"Shhh, not here."

James waited until they were out in the open court. He lowered his voice. "Look, whatever Snape's got planned, it can't be that bad. No way Slughorn would've let us leave like that. If it was all that dangerous, we'd be in the infirmary by now."

Remus spoke up. "I don't know, James. Even Slughorn backed down from Snape. As long as they think you're going to make peace with him, they're not going to tell us how bad this is."

"Are you _not_ going to apologize to Snape?" Peter asked.

"Fuck no. Why should I? I am going to find the little git and beat the crap out of him."

"That means our hands will still be black and Dumbledore will know that you lied."

"No, Peter, that means we have the whole night to make Snivelous so sorry, he'll take the curse off or we'll do him one better. We'll use the Unbearable."

"But we're not ready to do that. He hasn't been using his bed, he hasn't been fed the potion. None of it's ready."

When James looked like he wanted to hit Peter for using common sense, Remus placed a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. Let's just survive the fucking night. This curse is not good, mates. I say we ward ourselves in our room, use every precaution, and wait it out. Whatever's going to happen, will happen in the next twenty-four hours. Dumbledore all but said it, the way he wanted you to go to Severus tonight. And I'll bet any amount of money, that old geezer knows exactly where he's hiding. Why else would Snape be allowed out of his room at night? Bet he's sleeping in some dusty storage closet just down the hall."

Sirius knocked the back of his head gently against a stone column. "If only we had a magic map."

"Yes," Remus agreed. "That mapped people along with geographical locations. Whatever happened to that one we started third-year?"

James shrugged. "That was child's play. We didn't know enough to make it work."

"I still have it," Peter said. "It's in my trunk. We left a lot of the castle unexplored, but we managed to put a trace on all our teachers that year. The map shows them."

"Did we get around to putting a tracer on Snape?"

"No," Remus answered. "Damn thing grew tedious. We were working with new parchment spells when we broke off for exams. Never went back to it."

"It's high time we did."

Peter offered. "We know a lot more now. We can try merging spells for finding lost people, with that of mapping locations. That's really all that we missed in our thinking. The school roster will take care of the rest."

"Peter, get out that old trunk. And round up some gloves, I'm not looking at this shite all night." He stared at his hands. "Sirius, steel the best wisky from Filch's stash that you can. We are going to smoke that weasel out of his hole."

In their room, they tried to wait out the spell. They used their old map project, and plans to get back at Snape, as fuel to stay awake. What they could not know, was that each of them had to close their eyes and forget their bodies at 2 A. M. That was written in the spell.

They literally collapsed where they sat. Only Peter and Remus had made it into their beds. James and Sirius stretched out, adjacent to one another, surrounded by parchment, lists, and cheat sheets for the most useful spells in their academic history. As they slept, ink seeped through the gloves each were wearing. It spilled in droplets onto the carpet fibers and sheets. There, it beaded into little scorpion creatures with stingers. Only now, instead of four, there were eight from each hand. The right-hand scorpion delivered the poison that woke the boys in isolation. Each one awoke, unable to see the other three around him. The left-hand scorpion delivered the summoning poison. In that sting, was written the time and place the bearer was to appear. After the bites were accomplished, the little creatures dashed across the floor, crept beneath the crack under the door, and made their back to their master.

It took James a while to make sense of his surroundings. There was something in his hand and he knew it was important. He knew not to let go of it. A stick of some sort. A magic stick. He knew he wasn't in his room. But the castle halls and even the night sky, had seemed so normal, it wasn't worth questioning. But the more he roamed, not knowing where he was going, feeling the dewy grass sticky and wet between his toes, he began to realize he was cold, and the sky wasn't right at all. In fact, something was out of place about the whole landscape.

Sirius gripped his wand. He had the feeling he wasn't supposed to be here. In fact, here wasn't supposed to be here. The castle lay some distance behind him, and woods loomed ahead. Moonlight backlit the forest and disappeared into its opaque shadows. He remembered walking through tall reeds and the most irritating burning around his feet and shins. Looking down, he saw that small scrapes glistened, oozing beads of blood. Part of him could've easily ignored it, but part of him struggled to wake up to understanding it. The mud and the chill were just too uncomfortable. Some part of him knew it should've been in a nice warm bed, surrounded by comfortable, safe walls. This wasn't right. That's when his mind leapt to greater wakefulness.

Remus's critical thinking kicked in. It was a dream. Oh, thank god. Relief had him sinking to his knees into the flora surrounding him. He held onto his wand, grateful to whatever mechanisms caused him to dream having it. Misting Oaks and shivering leaves lost their threatening aura. The pain in his bare feet made sense, as he balanced on knurled roots sticking from the ground. The cuts from underbrush wasn't real. The night wasn't real. So many of these kinds of dreams had filled his childhood. He learned to awaken inside his dreams, to embrace that extra awakeness that came from realizing he could do anything, even fly. He remembered flights across the night sky, from town to town, with a pillowcase full of bubblegum that he shared with other kids who were flying around, and waking up to feel incredible disappointment that it hadn't been real. Only it was, he insisted. He just wasn't allowed to bring the candy back with him. Eventually, candy was replaced by girls, in his flying dreams, and all the smooching he could imagine. He enjoyed this reverie among the trees, until he realized the cuts were still burning and the chill was seeping through his clothes.

Peter waited to be lifted into the sky, but the sensation never came. His father had told him, 'Wizards always know when they're travelling in their energy form. Muggles rarely do. They call it 'out-of-body' or 'astral' experiences. You can teach yourself to do it quite naturally, but you'll find it happens when you're dreaming, spontaneously. It always starts with the dream illusion. But as soon as you realize you're dreaming, your energy becomes yours to explore as thoroughly as you like.'

The longer Peter stood there, waiting for something wonderful to happen, the more he noticed how solid and real the forest rose up around him. He was glad he had his wand. That seemed important. The fact that he remembered one moment from the next, scuttling noises, and the repeat of a distant owl, made him feel the passing of time. That didn't happen in dreams. One did not feel time in dreams or out of body travel. It did not exist. He bent to rub his calf. He couldn't see the blood clearly in the dim, but he felt a thin line of wet on his hand. Trouble pulled his chest into a knot of tension. Suddenly, the feeling of having forgotten something filled him with anxiety. This was real. He wasn't waking up. He pressed his hand as hard against a trunk of bark beside him, as he could. He pressed till it hurt. Okay then. This was no dream.

Severus watched James through the trees for a few minutes. The witches wanted a good look at him, without him looking back. They appreciated his attractiveness and deemed him unworthy of it. They actually suggested turning him into a toad at one point. Snape was having none of it. He knew what they were doing by the urges and inspirations in his body, that had nothing to do with his intentions. They were hens cackling at their upper hand. That was all. One of them dominated the energy shared by all for a moment, and Snape felt the words very clearly, 'Strangle him.' He shut them out as he focused on luring James to a clearing.

He took the first steps into the spot where moonlight appointed their duel, and waited on James to notice him. That Gryffindor, he knew, would still be groggy and waking up to this new focus. Snape only hoped that before it was all over with, he would remember what he did and why he deserved what was coming to him.

James moved carefully through the underbrush. It amused Severus to think that he was so pitifully unaware in this state, not because of the curse, but because it reflected his true, unawakened state, that he didn't know he could just walk back to the castle. People who know that daily life is but one level of reality, can come and go easily between degrees. But others get lost in their solid walls and fall victim to their own inability to make them expand. The minute Jame's silhouette stopped dodging shadows and froze, Severus knew that he saw him. He moved to the center of the opening and let moonlight reveal him as completely as it could.

James's bare feet crushed the twigs and undergrowth loudly when he started towards Severus. "So this is your big curse. A wand fight in the Forbidden Forest. Why didn't you just say so?"

Even in this state, Severus observed that James's arrogance wasn't going to let him admit that he didn't understand exactly what was going on. It was going to take the highlights of their animosity, and use it any way it could. Severus wasn't waiting to be thanked for allowing James the use of his wand. He didn't have to. He sent the first strike. He missed on purpose, hoping only to arouse the reflexes of James's mind into action.

James ducked. "What, no bowing? No gentle-wizard posturing?" James aimed one back. Snape deflected it and stepped off-center.

Peter was the first to see the sparks flying through the branches. Wand ignitions cracked to life in the still of the forest. Shards of blue-white spikes lit up the other side of the trees like fireworks. That warring light triggered his memory, triggered the feud between his friends and Snape, and sent shocks of realization into knowing that he'd been invited to this fight. No, not invited. Summoned. Summoned by the curse blackening his hands. This was no dream. This was Snape's curse.

Did he want to move? Did he want to leave this spot? It might not've been comfortable, but it looked a lot safer than the sparks of fire being shot off in the distance. As he wavered in this indecision, a figure shot past him, so low to the ground, it nearly knocked him over. It wore green pajamas and a mess of shaggy bed hair. As it scrambled, wand drawn, towards the fight, Peter called out to it. "Sirius! Is that you?"

Sirius stopped. He gave Peter only a brief glance over his shoulder. He put his fingers to his lips, remained crouching, and demanded, "What are we doing here? Do you remember leaving the castle?"

"No, I thought I was dreaming. I didn't question anything until I woke up here."

"Who's fighting?"

"I don't know. We should probably stay right here, where it's safe."

"Bollocks. Let's go. If that's James or Remus, they'll need our help."

Peter was hoping he wouldn't say that. In the dark, with his back to him, Sirius could not see the face he was making. If this was Snape's curse, then Snape was controlling everything around them. That was worse than a dream. Their reactions were the only free will they had as long as this played out.

The faces that came into view under the wand sparks, were that of James and Severus. The two were using trunks and foliage to dodge each other. Some of the shots were dangerously close to Snape, who, Peter saw, used them to retreat. With each step lost, James advanced. Peter saw the excitement illuminated on his face for a moment, to see his shots get close enough to whip the side of Snape's cloak. Even Peter could see that James was being baited deeper into the forest. Sirius took off after them. Peter held back.

He told himself, if anything goes wrong, he'll be in condition to help. He'll have his wand and he can rescue James and Sirius once Snape traps them. That was inevitable, wasn't it? The curse was basically a written program that none of them were going to escape. Better to hang back and let it play out.

As he thought this through, a blast of plasmic fire seared his shoulder and scorched the bark beside him. He fired back, without thinking. As soon as he heard Remus's cry, he took off in the direction, shouting, "Remus! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Remus."

He found his friend trying to sit up. Remus held his side "What the bloody hell is going on? Who's fighting?"

"Everyone. It's the curse. Are you all right?"

"You got me good. I heard voices and saw the fight. I didn't know it was you."

"Same here."

Remus used his other hand to feel around in the dark. "I dropped my wand."

Peter immediately got on all fours to help him find it. "You're going to need that. I don't know what Snape is up to, but he's leading James deeper into the forest. Whatever you do, don't follow. Stay behind and make careful decisions. If this curse is acting like a dream, then it must have a sun-up limit. If we can stay safe for that long-"

A scream interrupted Peter. Both of them recognized Sirius's voice, but not the shrill panic that flooded it. "Hurry! Accio my wand."

Peter did, it came from the complete opposite direction they were looking. When it slapped into his hand, it stuck, covered in globulous sap. Neither could tell if it was sap or honey, or what kind of thing could produce such copious amounts of it. All they knew, was that it made it difficult to handle. After some awkward fumbling, Remus got a hold of it. "Come on."

Peter found himself once more holding back while his friend dashed headlong into danger. And once more, he justified his actions by proceeding cautiously.

Severus waited for James to catch his breath. It was clearly visible in the moon glow, steaming from behind one of the younger fig trees. The deeper they went, the more interesting the plant life and creatures became. For instance, they were meters from a nest of Whomping Willows, and not the tamed kind, allowed to grow on campus. They were being watched by giant, skin-headed Pilgrim Buzzards with black plumes as large and flashy as any peacock's. They were half a man's height and not the friendliest of birds. Those great black feathers hid muscles. They were also encroaching on the Minotaur's territory, but Severus had made all the ritual offerings to show his respect and trusted they would be left to battle without causing offense.

Minotaurs, like Ogre's, bowed to the witches of old, who once protected them. Severus knew they were watching, invisibly stealthy, from their groves and caves, keeping score of the Human Manlings, as they called them, who wanted to fight like real warriors. No doubt, this night was destined to become some story passed from generation to generation, of Minotaur folklore, to their young. 'Humans have their cares and we leave them to them. We do not involve ourselves, if we can avoid it,' some warning would be issued one day.

He had led James this far, not to trap him, but to entice his friends deeper into the woods. Remus, Sirius, and Peter were the ones who needed trapping, and they were quick to follow James. If they survived tonight, maybe they would think twice before being a follower of his ever again.

He had to admit, this forest excursion at death's hour, was exciting. He did feel an exhilaration locked out of sight during the day. It could've had something to do with witches, or it could've been the memory of running through the woods as a child. Either way, the energy spiked his senses to their most alert sharpness.

In his mind, sunlight dotted the forest floor on a perfect spring day. His mother made his first wand herself, and gave it to him at the age of four. She had him chasing her between the trees. Together, they ran after the new bunnies and squirrels, never catching them, but sending out quick, soft blasts that changed the color of their fur. Instead of brown and grey, their forest contained bright blue bunnies, pink ones, and sleek red and purple squirrels. The colors wore off after a few hours, but this game was played so often, their muggle neighbors began telling amusing stories of oddly colored creatures roaming the woods.

As he got older, his reflexes stayed sharp as he found himself hunting alongside his father. Every now and then, Tobias got the itch to shore up his manhood and kill something, with a gun and everything. Where Eileen allowed Severus to hunt with stunning spells, Tobias took to making him leave his wand at home. "You need to know how to do this without cheating. Nothing comes easy in life, which is what makes us thankful. You'll find, life will not dote on you as your mother does."

Tobias Snape was a bony man, slightly stooped, due to hunched shoulders over his bookkeeping for the local chicken factory. He seemed of a completely isolated genetic cut than that of his son. He started losing his sandy-brown hair at the age of twenty-five and wore it to conceal the thinnest parts. Early onset of arthritis gave him a stiff, disjointed way of moving that was as telling of his rigid views as his spectacles were of his nearsightedness. Constant scorekeeping, of the changing numbers that affected his livelihood, kept anxiety close and his stomach sour.

By the age of fifteen, Severus was as tall as his father. His darker, robust quality was not lost on Tobias, who was not at peace with it. It wasn't just that Severus had taken after his mother's line. Tobias had reason to distrust his wife, but suffered in silence for the home she'd made and the order she kept. There was no taming a witch. No matter how much he loved her, the years had taught him that it wasn't enough to change her ways. At least the boy was intelligent and obedient. But Tobias would've liked the honor of seeing himself in his own child.

Severus learned to use the gun just to shut his father up. When Tobias wasn't looking, he used one of the crude sticks he'd fashioned and stuck down his sock. Once the animal was down, he'd fire the gun to alert his father. Things got trickier when his father began searching for bullet wounds, but Severus managed to outgrow those excursions, relieved to do so.

"C'mon, Severus! You got me where you want me. Show me some damage."

James was apparently recovered. Severus hit him with a blast that ripped open his bicep. His scream was one that had to be taken seriously. It alerted his friends to his whereabouts and condition. This was the part where Severus came half way out into James's view. Through curses and tears, James shot an unsteady blast that had him seething to see Snape deflect it. He chased another few meters, forcing his magic to make the energy harder and stronger. If he could just catch Snape at an angle he wasn't suspecting, or had his friends here to do it, he could get that son-of-a-bitch. The laceration practically crippled his aim and compromised his grip.

For Severus, James was just a few meters from where he wanted him. They both heard Sirius's call.

"Over here!" James kept his eyes on Snape, who waited until Sirius was in sight before dumping an energetic blast directly into the ground. The forest floor jumped, tossing moss and lichen into the air around their ankles. Soil dust and spores burned their sinuses. James stumbled through the raining dirt after Snape. Sirius tripped over unearthed vines and went face-down into loosened earth. When he tried to regain his footing, he found that each thrust left his leg driving right through the soil, as if it could not hold together. His legs pushed and pushed. His bare feet literally felt themselves kicking through like there was nothing below to support him. His body eventually sank against his swimming, and dirt began to roll in around him. By the time it swallowed his legs and covered his chest, he had no idea where his wand was.

Above him, poised on the strong branches that played out over the show, sat three giant Pilgrim Buzzards. Sirius cursed them as he treaded dirt. He grabbed fistfuls and peddled against the rolling mound shifting around his weight. It was like quicksand, only drier. Beyond him, James's shouts trailed deeper into the forest. Sirius's anger exploded from him in kicks and curses that had the buzzards blinking at him.

"Bloody birds."

As if in answer, one of the beasts spread its feathers, showing him a wing expanse over six fee long.

"That helps," he snarled, before calling for help. "Peter! Where are you?"

Dead vines hung a meter away. He wondered if he could free his legs enough to roll across the unstable dirt. The idea looked promising until two of the buzzards leapt from their loft and glided down. They landed an arm's length from his head, sending him into a panic.

"Peter! Get out of hear you bloody birds."

Remus's voice tore through the trees. "Sirius!"

"Over here! Hurry!"

The birds tilted their beady eyes at him. Their pupils looked like shiny black fish eggs embedded in wrinkled layers of sagging skin around their eyes. Excessive folds of skin looked like a plucked chicken's, cresting all around their bald heads. Their scarred beaks and gaping nostrils gave them an even more aggressive appearance up close. They were ugly enough, but t it was their size that made Sirius shrink from them. They were robust birds, with chests swelling as significantly as any man's, and wide bodies supported on trunks of scaled legs and claws. When they flapped their wings, a musk of mite infested feathers released into the air around Sirius's head.

"Help me," Severus cried out to Remus.

A streak of blue fire sent both birds flying away from Sirius. He swiveled his head and looked on his friend with gratefulness. "God, Remus. Bless you!"

Arms exhausted, he let his body slump in the mire. "Don't come any closer. Snape's destroyed the firmament of the ground. Throw me a bloody vine."

Remus lifted his wand to accio the vine to Sirius, when the third buzzard whisked it out of his grip with its beak. Buzzard and wand flew to a higher perch in the tree.

"Oh my god. What'd the bloody thing do?"

"It stole your wand," Sirius stated incredulously. "It fucking stole your wand."

"What, does Snape have this whole place enchanted?"

"Trust me, it was bloody haunted before we got here. It's got no choice but to drop it. Go after it."

"Forget that." He yelled, "Peter, where the hell are you?"

"He's back at the castle by now. Fuck it, I'm sinking here. Go after it."

Remus started for the tree. The bird eyed him and rustled its wings. He hadn't climbed a tree in years, but he was relieved to know that he remembered how.

"Hurry."

Turns out, getting to the first branch from the ground, was the hardest part. He struggled with his footing, finding the tree mostly dead, slick, and barkless in large spots. But his arms found their way to the first tier of branches and from their it was a matter of patience, as he hoisted himself up to the next. All he needed the bird to do, was drop his wand. He didn't even need to get that close to it.

"Throw something at it."

He looked around, broke off a handful of twigs, crumbled them in his fist and launched them at the bird. It blinked, but stood its ground.

"Just drop it, you bastard."

Below, Sirius screamed. "Do something!"

Remus saw that the other two birds were advancing. Every time the dirt shifted beneath them, their wings fluttered to keep them on top of the ground. The more Sirius waved his arms, flailing and punching at them, the more his body sank. Remus tried to keep his eye on his wand and scoot closer to the vines that Sirius needed at the same time. He reached as far as he could through the branches. His fingers grazed the vines until they caught hold. "Here it comes, Sirius. Watch for it."

He pulled back, testing the weight and forcing the momentum. The minute he let go, pushing the vines out to Sirius, the one he stood on cracked. It was a warning crack. He had time to throw himself onto a lower branch, but when he did, the other fell, pinning him. The entire tree shuddered, as if it were in some eternally slow death throe, and Remus had disturbed it. He felt his legs go numb and all the remaining limbs of the tree awakened into independent movement.

"Oh, fuck," he heard himself say. It was a Whomping Willow. An old, dying one, with some fight still left in it, apparently. He tried wriggling his body free, grateful for the slow reflexes of the tree. But the pain in his back said he wasn't going anywhere. As he saw the branches closing in from above, he wondered if keeping still would trick the ancient beast into going back to sleep. As the knotted shoots twisted down to him, he knew that wasn't going to be the case.

On the ground, Sirius's arms succumbed to exhaustion. Dirt buried them. His screams ran hoarse. And when he saw Remus's body enfolded in the willow, they died altogether. His brain told him that no one's body could survive a crushing blow like that. Remus's back had to be broken. But his friend's body dangled there, his head moved, his arms shielded it as more blows and shifting branches came.

Out of the corner of Sirius's eye, he saw the first bird approach. It looked at him. He looked at it, and knew what it was going to do. The only weapon he had left, was his screams. As the bird lunged for his eyes, he tried to inflict harm with the force of his lungs. Behind closed and locked eyelids, his head twisted so hard on his neck, to keep out of the creature's reach, that he felt the bones grind and pop at the base of his skull. At the first brush of beak, the first pecks tearing his skin, his shouts lifted into hysteria, heard over the entire forest. He was fully conscious when his eyelid stretched as far as it could go and ripped in the bird's beak. He prayed for death.

Peter was halfway back through the forest, near the castle, when Sirius's screams guilted him into turning back. He reasoned that if Remus was helping Sirius, then he wasn't really needed. After all, he didn't really have anything against Snape and wanted to end this whole affair. But Sirius's screams took on a whole other level of horror. They told Peter he was in trouble and Remus, evidently, could not get him out of it. He raced back through the woods as fast as his shaking legs would let him. He followed cries that sounded too crazed and wounded to be human.

When he arrived at the spot, Peter's eyes could not make sense of what they saw. His brain told him to blast the birds to hell. From the back of Sirius's head, he fired and watched the birds roll like tumbleweeds into the trees. Once gone, he dreaded facing the front of Sirius's head. Something like strangled sobs and choking noises came from the bowed head. Atop it, matted and leave-strewn hair trembled violently. As Peter neared from the side, he saw a strip of red meat where Sirius's scalp lifted above his ear. Peter wretched.

Awkward grunts and gasping from above pulled his attention up to Remus, who dangled uselessly from the clutches of a half-dead Whomping Willow.

"Remus! Are you okay?"

"Petrify it, Peter! Freeze the tree."

Peter was quick to do it, but that left Remus pinned. "Stop. Stop. Can you burn through one of these limbs?"

"I can try." Peter sent a series of blasts to the branch on top of Remus's back, right where it connected to the tree. There, all three branches grew from that point. Remus's arms currently lay over the topmost and his pelvis slumped over the next. The one Peter tried to burn off, was the broken one entangled in the branches of the neighboring tree. It was a surprise to both of them when that entire shared joint caught fire. Perhaps the topmost branch was the deadest one. Perhaps this is why it burned the fastest and was the first to bend. Peter stopped as soon as the fire ignited. Remus did not have the visibility he had, and so did not brace for the breaking limb above him. And Peter did not know exactly what was happening to be of any help. In the second it took for him to understand what he'd done, he couldn't speak.

He couldn't warn Remus. His voice would not come. He simply watched as the branch twisted in its fall, rolling on woody ligaments that flipped it, taking Remus's body with it. The branch went down, crushing Remus's arms just above his elbows. Remus fell. Peter covered his mouth at the sight of blood spraying into the air. Remus's body hit the forest floor. It even moved as his legs danced against his will, in answer to a nervous system that had just been ripped apart. Remus quivered on the ground. His arms dangled far above his body, still pinched between burning branches.

This irreparable damage, sent Peter one way, and his mind another. Everything in his being told him not to approach Sirius's buried body, no matter what sobs he heard coming from it. The ground around Sirius practically bubbled with instability. And the thought of approaching Remus's doomed one, had him backing away from the sight. The best he could do, was put a spell of protection around them both, until he could get help. The spell took a moment. In his sobbing and shaking, his kept losing his focus. By the time he accomplished it, the fire had spread. He ran.

He didn't know which way was out. He ran in any direction to avoid the flames. As they pushed him deeper into the heart of the forest, he cried out, "Severus! Severus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

Entire families of Manotaurs listened and watched from their caves. They did not panic at the sight of the fire. They knew it was no threat to them.

The forest horizon glowed orange against the night. This signaled to Severus that he could bring his and James's duel to an end. His last shot had sliced both of James's calves and sent him crawling into the bushes. He deliberately prolonged their battle so that James would be the last one to go. The others, he had not needed to expend so much energy on. He knew their blind worship of James would take care of them. And now that they were out of the way, perhaps James would be able to pay attention to his lesson.

Severus gave him time to get back to his feet and to wonder where his friends were. Around Severus, the air bristled with magic. His, and the those who trailed in his energy. The witches were excited to feel the strength in his healthy body, the pump of his adrenaline, and the night wind in cooling the sweat on his skin. He could just sense that they were responsible for making sure the breeze got under his hair to his neck.

James crawled from his hiding place long enough to send a barrage of splintering shards at him. As Severus blocked them, he was tempted to let one hit him, to make things more interesting. As it was, his attention was starting to waver. Helplessness did not look good on James and it certainly held no challenge for him. He was going to end it, but it had to be a momentous ending.

"Do you want me to heal you, James, so that you can stand up and face me?"

He heard a rustle. From out of the dark, James threw a dirt devil of rotting leaves and decaying forest matter flying his way. The debris could not penetrate his defenses, but it blinded and him and confused the noises of James's escape. Knowing the Gryffindor would not back down from a moment of gaining the upper hand, Severus aimed his shot behind to his left, then another behind him. Both produced grunts of near-misses from the foliage, but told him of the jagged path James was taking to get behind him. Severus dissolved the dervish and stepped clear of it. In doing so, he lost a split second to James's wand and caught a blue streak of fire in his thigh. He grimaced against the burn, ducking the next one. Good. Now he had to fight.

James kept himself moving. Severus aimed his shots in the direction he wanted to move, unless James's onslaught revealed his true position. This was more action than the witches had seen in a long time, and their thrill spilled over into him. He made the mistake of studying what he felt, of closing his eyes against their ecstasy. A rogue blast peeled bark from the tree inches from his cheek. He fired back, ripping a new gash to the side of James's ribs, and breaking a few as he did so. He followed the screams to a clearing of Grandfather Elms. James's bloody feet scraped at the moss on their roots as he tried to push himself out of Severus's path. His pajamas were plastered from sweat and the many abrasions that spotted them darkly. Standing over him, before delivering the final blow, was not enough. He had to make sure that James could see his face very clearly in the sparse light. So he lowered himself onto James's body.

The witches amplified their delight. They goaded him so strongly, he wondered if his choice to straddle James had been his own or theirs. As James tried to speak, spittle trickled forth. Fear looked out from his eyes and Snape leaned forward to make sure he put a name to it.

The witches begged him to let them play a part. He felt it in the way they absorbed the heat from the body beneath them. The way they used his center of gravity to open his legs wider across James's hips, and sink against an indulgence that had them working to keep Severus there for as long as they could. In his trance of triumph, Severus allowed them a few seconds, to relish what they could feel. He knew it wasn't him, who bent down, letting his hair spill against James's head, and kissed him. It wasn't him who swept his lips so gently against his enemy's, displaying a passion that James did not deserve.

It was the women who missed intimacy, and the girls who were eager for it, but had never had it. Wives and virgins, burned unjustly, now burned in him. They were lawless in death, and so alive with thirst. He didn't know which was stronger, their hatred of James, or their starved desire to handle him. His awareness of them unbalanced him. He quickly took back his body and his will by sending two lightening cuts up from the inside of James's body, bursting out of his chest.

He withdrew his magic, left James beneath the canopy of the trees, and turned back to the castle.

Sobs shook Sirius so hard, he was the first to open his eyes. Daylight begged him to find relief in it. He lay on the carpet at the foot of his bed. He trembled from the nightmare, as it pursued him into the room. His hands and legs moved as if testing their reality and their freedom. When it felt real enough, he sat up and felt his face. The pain was still there. The buzzards were still real. The snap of his optic nerve, could still be felt. He shuddered and cried against the assault to his nervous system.

His crying woke Peter, who cringed in his blankets, not wanting to see into the room. Whatever it was, whoever it was making that sound, was only giving confirmation of a night that was no dream. At first he wept with it, unwilling to face a dawn that did not bring his friends back with him. But clock-time, not dream-time, had him eyeballing his plush canopy, and noticing that he was no longer in a fiery forest. He was no longer running for his life and blind with shame and regret. He had to tell himself these things because the feelings were still there. Remus's amputated arms and Sirius's mangled head still sent signals into his brain, telling him to find safety.

It took laying there long enough, allowing the pain in his heart to subside, for him to realize that it was Sirius he heard crying on the floor. It took that connection - Sirius! - for him to lower his blankets and peek at the young man on the floor. Green pajamas hiked up around the calves of the lanky boy. Not a speck of dirt or blood in sight. Peter pushed back the covers and ran to him.

Under any other circumstance, he would've found himself thrown back by Sirius's dignity and insulted masculinity. But no sooner did he have Sirius in his arms, than Sirius squeezed him against him, needing Peter's comfort more than Peter knew.  
"Oh, Peter. What the fuck, Peter." He kept repeating it.

"I know, I know. I think it's over now. We're back. We're fine." He rubbed Sirius's back the way he remembered his mother rubbing his. The ultimate soothing. That was all he knew to do.

A moan in the bed beside Peter's, brought them apart. They both said at the same time, "Remus!"

Sure enough, Remus's eyes fluttered open, ringed in strained redness from tears he didn't even know he was crying. The look on Peter's and Sirius's faces only punctuated what he knew to be true. His arms were gone and he really would have to adjust to life without them. Their tears, and unconcealed grief, said so. No matter how many times he replayed the shock of seeing them dangling above him, it never got easy to accept. He felt like he'd spend days just trying to come to terms with still being alive without his arms.

"Remus. Say something," Sirius insisted. He couldn't take that hollowed out, gutted look that Remus had on his face.

Peter understood the problem. Remus was still in shock. Gently, Peter reached for the covers and pulled them down over Remus's chest. His arms, still attached, came into full view. His mouth fell open and something very childlike whispered its relief. Instead of moving his arms, he simply looked at them until Sirius grabbed them, pinching.

"A dream! A fucking, mother-loving dream." His grin disfigured his face. "Let me see you move these babies."

Remus's hands got started before he was ready, as if they were tired of laying still, of waiting for him to trust them. They twitched. His fingers extended then balled into fists that lifted each arm off the mattress. He brought his clinched fists to his chest and opened his hands. "The ink is gone."

They all looked anew at their hands, appreciating this fact. "The ink is gone," Sirius repeated. "Hey James, wake up, the ink is gone."

They all ran to where James lay on his side on the floor. His whisky sat, untouched behind his head. Too impatient for him to wake up, Sirius pulled on his shoulder until James flopped onto his back. Remus jumped back, pulling Peter with him. Sirius began to shake. At their feet, James's body lay sliced open and nearly drained of blood. The carpet darkened far beneath the chair where he lay. They didn't have to touch him to know that it was real. This was no dream. Shaking, Peter took James by the hand. It was clean of the ink, but clearly, James had not been allowed to leave the world of Severus's curse.

James's injuries were too critical to keep him in the school infirmary. Dumbledore had him rushed to the main wizard facility equipped to handle severe trauma, and the spells that created them. He did not reprimand the boys right away for their failure to make peace with Snape. He saw that James was given the proper care he needed, sent word to James's family, and waited on Severus to come to him. Whatever they discussed behind closed doors, stayed there. Gossip among the paintings held that Snape admitted the part he played and offered to accept expulsion. But not before Dumbledore wrung every detail from him, of what the others had done to him. If Severus faced expulsion, then so did they.

Dumbledore didn't know which was the greater crime, James's injuries or throwing away one of the brightest students in the school just because he caved into the pressure of his bully. Some boys play with sticks, Severus retaliated with fire. He's a wizard, he's expected to use his gifts. It wasn't as if he was constantly onto Severus for abusing his abilities.

After a tense evening, Dumbledore was able to convince Severus to stay at Hogworts. He knew that James's parents were going to contest the decision, which was why he had Sirius, Peter, and Remus submit their own accounts of what had taken place to the Ministry of Magic, in advance of any protests. The parents had no ground to stand on, once the extent of their son's bullying lay before them and admitted by his best friends.

Of course, the biggest obstacle was not knowing if James would pull through. If he died, Dumbledore would not be able to keep Severus from seeing time in Azkaban. Every time the hospital wizards thought they had him stable, James's injuries would open anew, as if the curse was perpetuating itself. Asking Severus to reverse it, had met with such stony silence, he knew he would only force Severus to refuse outright if he asked again too soon. Severus needed time to forgive. This was not a cold-hearted boy, just one determined not to be hurt again. In fact, Severus's intelligence was part of his problem. James presented an obstacle and Severus took the necessary steps to remove it, not trusting any well-meaning adult to drag out his torture by doing nothing to James.

In the end, it was Sirius, Remus, and Peter who approached Severus. They were chaperoned by Dumbledore and McGonagall, but it was their idea. Severus was obliged to meet with them in the Slytherin common room. It had been cleared out to let the boys speak openly to one another. There, as the Professor and Headmaster watched on, the three apologized sincerely to Snape, admitted their wrongdoing, and begged him to save their friend.

At first, anger swept across Severus's face. How dare they ask him to bring that revolting person back to life? How dare they ask him to wake up to that hell everyday? Were they so stupid, they could not understand the lengths he'd gone to, to rid himself, and the world, of one James Potter? No, he didn't want to go to Azkaban, but he would.

"What guarantee can you give, that James will never bother me again? You can't."

Sirius reached out to Severus, stopping his hand just short of his sleeve. "Listen, mate, if I understand you now, James certainly does. You've given us the chance to say we get it now. We get that our jokes and our pranks weren't so funny to you. We get that we seriously hurt you, we never realized that before. You let us tell you about our change of heart, but you haven't given James the chance to tell you about his. Don't let him die. Don't let him miss the opportunity to tell you that he finally gets it, and he'll be happy to stay as far away from you as it takes. We're just asking for you to give him the same second chance you've given us. What if he's truly sorry? Do you want to murder someone who wishes they could take back everything they did to you? Do you want to be a murderer over a school kid's stupidity? James wouldn't want to die for something that stupid and you wouldn't want to spend a second of prison time over the likes of him."

He had a point. As much as Severus wanted James to disappear, he was not worth the trauma of prison, and certainly not worth scarring his entire life by becoming something so significant as the boy who Severus murdered. It could not be allowed for others to think that James was so important and impacting in his life. In hindsight, maybe the sorry excuse for a boy had suffered enough.

Severus announced, "I will go to him. But I want your word, from all three of you, that you will keep him away from me. Every time he looks my way, you will direct his attention elsewhere. If he so much as wants to say good morning to me, you will talk him out of it. You will do everything in your power to stir him clear of me."

"Done," Sirius agreed.

"Got it."

"Absolutely."

Under Dumbledore's watchful eye, Severus was escorted to the wizard hospital and arrangements were made to allow him the time he needed with his wand, over James's bed. The staff had already seen shamans and healers presented by Sirius's parents, when wizarding magic proved to have limited effect. Under the cover of night, Severus chanted the counter curse, a deep resounding song, that built from the back of his throat and layered in stages over James's unconscious body. His wand required a number of lengthy passes along the body, before every gash mended itself from the inside out.

Within the hour, medical wizards confirmed that he was no longer losing blood, and that his vitals were stable. By morning, his eye were open. He spoke and ate small pieces of fruit with his family. By the fourth day, he was asking to see his friends.

The boys waited all morning to get James alone without any of his family. They wanted to talk like friends, setting aside all the manners and polite chit-chat one had to resort to, to get through a hospital visit. They asked the expected questions, how soon could he come back to school? How much did he remember? How grateful was he for a new, fresh start?

James frowned at Sirius's line of questioning. "I'm not exactly grateful, mate. Where'd you get that from?"

They hadn't told him how his recovery came about.

"At least you're alive. You ought to be grateful for that."

As it turned out, James remembered enough to pit his story against theirs. "Maybe if I'd woken up in my room like you guys did. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad."

None of them knew what to say.

"I think I fought him all night. By myself. I held him off, waiting for you guys. What the hell were you doing? Why didn't you come?"

"We told you, we had our own battles to fight. Remus lost his bloody arms and I got my eyes ripped out. Peter nearly got burned to death. We're done, James. He's just too powerful. That's dark magic on his side."

"Yeah? Well you're standing there with two perfectly good eyes. Remus and Peter don't have a scratch on them. Why am I in this bed? Why were my guts all over the fucking floor?"

Remus leaned forward from his seat across from the bed. "Because we gave in. We're sorry. We wanted a second chance and we told Snape as much. He knew you wouldn't give in and he made no such arrangement for you. Please, James, just let all of this go. We promised him you would. That's the only reason you're awake right now."

James laughed at their naivete. "Not you too, Remus."

"Yes, me too. You can't possibly know what it's like to feel your arms ripped from your body and know you have to spend the rest of your life like that."

"You can't either, because it didn't happen. It was just a fucking nightmare that he induced with that black poison of his. I'm the only one he really attacked, yet you three are scared out of your minds."

"With good reason. Look, the guy has never really done anything to us. Let's not pursue this. Let's forget all about our plans and leave him the fuck alone. I don't know what kind of magic he's playing with, but I'm done with it."

"I can't believe this." James looked at Peter. "Do you still have our stuff? The notes, the ingredients we've collected, and all the rest?"

Peter thought he was going to ask his opinion of the whole Snape matter, but he answered with a rushed nod. "I still have it, spelled to keep viable under our floorboards. I was waiting for you to wake up so that we could all decide to dispose of it together."

"Dispose of it? Nah, mate, we worked too hard for this. Don't you see? If we had no reason to use the Unbearable curse before, we have every reason now. That's my blood in the wood grain. Don't you want some of your dignity back? Hell no, we're not destroying our plans. The sooner Snape is turned into a female, the sooner I'm gonna fuck him from one end of the school to the other. Everyone in Slughorn's class saw him walk up and challenge me. Us. They saw what his curse did and they know why I'm in the hospital. Whether you're with me or not, mates, I will make him sorry."


	5. Fire Shackle

He needed a spell. And not just the Unbearable. Snape had proven to be either a powerful wizard or an unruly super bitch. James wasn't sure which. At present, Snape was too dangerous to hope that a single spell was going to make him conquerable. He could see that just making him female was not going to solve the problem his magic represented. How do you weaken that much power? Was it just that Snape knew more, or was he really supplied with an inordinate amount of magic?

This, and the absence of his friends, had James pawing through centuries of old spell books in the library, to see how other wizards rendered their enemies inert. There was nothing in Peter's collection that told him how to actually weaken someone's magic. That's what he wanted. There was no point in making Snape female if he was just going to get his ass kicked by him anyway. No, he needed to tie Snape's magic as well has his hands.

And don't think for one moment he could forget that kiss. The best thing in the world, right before the worst thing? What the hell kind of game was that? Did Snape want it or didn't he? He would've been better off killing James, than opening that door. James never once let a girl get away with teasing him like that. If she's rubbing her goods in his face, she better know what she's doing. A wand fight in the woods was one thing, but if that sick bastard needed danger to get his kicks, then James could make the leap. That's what his friends didn't understand. It might only look like the interest was one-sided, but Snape kept leaving him bread crumbs. Snape kept teasing him and picking at that part of him attracted to a mythical, amazing female. Even if she was evil. Any woman worth catching, was a woman worth chasing. And James loved the chase.

Snape might be a guy, but he was sending different signals to James. He was playing the part of a very powerful witch and nobody seemed to be able to see it the way James did. This was their fight. Snape obviously wanted to be wrestled to the ground before he let anyone put it in. That was fucking hot. There's no explaining that to kids who still think sex is all about heart-shaped boxes and putting a ring on a girl's finger. That was cute, but it wasn't the meat and potatoes that made him want to hunt and run down his food until he had his teeth in its neck.

He could get hard thinking about Lily, or any pretty girl. But he could come without touching himself over the likes of that she-demon hiding in Snape. He was now sure he could even fuck Snape as a dude. But if he was going that far, it was going to be what he wanted it to be. That perfect triangle that all girls have. Naked and helpless. Imagine that on a bitch like Snape. That would humiliate him beyond reason. If Snape wanted dangerous sex, he was going to get it.

If James could find the right set of spells to render that super bitch null, he was sure he could get his gang back into the action. They were just scared. They all just had their asses handed to them by a nerd. A hardass, beautiful nerd. Payback was inevitable. It was in their blood to retaliate. They just needed their confidence restored and the right spell could do that. All he had to do, was find Snape's kryptonite. Everybody has one.

Control, control. How could he get control? If there was any useful spell, it would be a zombie-like one. But he didn't want to turn Snape into a zombie. He didn't want to feel like he was fucking a corpse. He wanted that boy sweating and yelling out beneath him. He wanted to see all that hair plastered across his face and the shock on his open mouth when he felt James ramming up inside him. How does that feel, Severus, you bitch.

Every person has a liquid center. That's what people protect. That's what they spend their whole lives building and fortifying homes, families, and careers over. The coldest people were the most afraid of anyone finding their center. The center is the soft-tissue, sticky inside, that flinches in the face of its own secret fears and people put on special masks, professional masks, to cover it up.

'Be a man,' everyone says. Like James had any fucking choice. Like his dick was going to fall off if he didn't soldier up and show how tough he was. Like crying because his cousins laughed at him for wetting his pants, was somehow going to botch his entire adult life. No, your father tells you those things to help you protect yourself. The real message is clear. Don't let people see that you're really this ultra sensitive, knee-jerk bundle of soft tissue that can be made to cry yourself sick or even die from fear. Because that's what people are before whoever loves them, teaches them to put on some fucking armor.

The sociopaths have it right. Why give a shit about anything when it's just a way for people to control you to get what _they_ want? They'll call you selfish when they can't guilt you into serving their needs. So people hide the center, with good reason. It's the control center.

Everybody has a liquid center, made of molecular bonds so ephemeral, so connected to the soul, that a person's spirit could flow through it, from the spirit world into the physical world, at will. The whole point of it was to keep life fluid, to keep the solid-liquid-gas states of matter negotiable, so that energy could come and go as it pleased. So that even a squib could have a little magic. So that music can feel good, food can be delicious, and inventions can inspire their way into any civilization. But the price was a center that could be fried and traumatized into mute silence by the very stimulation it was made to feel.

In Jame's experience, only lovers, mothers, and babies can safely share their centers with each other. That's the only time it was safe, and even then one took one's chances. For the rest, it remained a sacred inside, and strangers had to be kept out. Kindness and flattery could get him access to most females and some men. There was only one thing he knew that worked on everyone. Sex. Straight to the center, where everything was so sensitive, people fell in love like idiots. The center just absorbed everything that went into it, that's why it had to be guarded. Men and women could go mad from being touched against their will. (This reminded James of the nuisance he and his cousins made of themselves whenever close confines had them teasing each other and complaining to their parents, 'He's touching me! Stop touching me.' 'Don't touch me, I'm not touching you.')

Revulsion is touch. It is that center being aggravated and it goes straight to the core. This is why some victims kill themselves. The revulsion that they can't get out of their souls, makes them hurt and hate themselves to the point of death. They simply quit the world and the whole freaking human game. And that's exactly the power James wanted over Snape. It would be like taking a sledge hammer to all that shiny black veneer glossing Snape's mystery. If James couldn't open it, then he'd break it, simple as that. Teach that wizard not to flaunt himself like a woman. Oh, he had something special all right. Even something powerful, but that didn't make him better than everyone else, making people stare at him and then not giving an inch when they extended friendship. Asking nicely hadn't worked. Picking a lock on a wizard's box was pointless. He had to smash it. What else was going to humble Snape?

James decided, the only thing all that devil-black hair was good for, was holding onto it when he finally got the chance to shove Snape's arrogance down his throat. He couldn't wait to get him helpless enough to do that. Everyone has a hot, liquid center, and he couldn't wait to sink into Snape's.

"You're not going to be so tough when you get a gut full of me. I'm going to ride you so hard, your mother will feel it."

His friends still weren't speaking to him. At least not about Snape. Oh, they yammered on about every insignificant thing else, but when James wanted to talk spells and getting even, they clammed up. Evenings in the common room were either silent or filled with such trivial chatter, no one's interest sustained any meaningful conversation. And if they couldn't talk about something that really mattered to all of them, then getting into high jinks around the castle, lost its thrill. He loved his troops. He was perfectly prepared to sit in abject silence until he could prove to them it was safe to retaliate against Snape.

Even an invitation from Lily Evans, to join her on her next excursion to Hogsmeade, had him accepting as a second choice. Lily's marks and charm made her one of Slughorn's favorites. Every so often, Slughorn wrote her a pass to assist him in errands and to pick up a few items in the village. She could choose one person to accompany her. When she didn't choose one of her girlfriends, she chose James. Teachers trusted her like that. She had outstanding marks and she put out that kind of sure vibe. She was the kind of beautiful, practical girl that a wizard would do well to have on his team. Already, just dating her, won him a monthly trip outside the castle that other students were not privileged with. Maybe she was 'nice' and vanilla, but that was the sort of thing a guy could bank on. Those were the most publicly respected traits, and therefore supported the most powerful alliance. So what if it was kinda bland. He'd always find a way to satisfy his darker, richer tastes.

Term break was coming up. James felt a plan coming together like sunrise on the horizon, except the first shaft of golden rays were yet to be seen. There was only the hint of its brightness. That was enough to get him thinking ahead. In a world where he got what he wanted, what would he need in order for things to go smoothly? He couldn't have teachers interfering. He couldn't be worried about students sticking their noses where they don't belong. He couldn't be bothered with exams. He wanted it filmed so that he could watch it back. A momento. The Unbearable couldn't be ready and working until he'd found the spell to counter Snape's magic.

One evening, they were all sitting on their beds, waiting for the last minutes when the lights absolutely had to go out. When James couldn't come up with the right spell to save his life, he baited Peter, "Let's just say, hypothetically, that someone has every right to protect himself. They're scared for their life. Is there a spell that keeps their enemy from harming them, and that's all it does? Say, it doesn't really hurt anyone, just stops harm from being done."

Peter hesitated from his bed. They all knew he was going to answer. He couldn't _not_ please James for very long. "That would be an amulet. But none of them are that powerful. You would have to tailor one specific to your enemy. I don't know any spells for that."

"I've already looked under defensive magic. All the wards and spells offer a general deflection of ill will, or an outright shield against cast spells. I'm looking for a subtle difference. I want something that absolutely contains, or limits, another person's magic without incapacitating them. An invisible straightjacket on their magic. I don't want it to be 'unlikely' that they'll use their powers against me. I want it to be impossible for them to use their powers."

Remus called out from his bed, "You're looking for another ass-kicking. For god's sake, leave the bugger alone. Let him be 'the one that got away.'

"Can't do that, mate." He shook his head. "I'm not asking you to join me, I'm just thinking out loud."  
"That's not a defensive spell," Peter pointed out. "That's an offensive, very aggressive dark spell you're wanting."

"Yeah, know where I might find anything like that?"

Sirius couldn't hold back. "Yes, take a right and it'll be just before you arrive at your death. Spells with that much power are only used by the Ministry to execute dangerous wizards."

"Not bloody buying it. If a perfectly innocent wizard wanted to make sure another wizard couldn't harm him, there has to be a way without locking him up, maintaining a shield, or having to make constant counter measures. I'm talking a one and done spell, without his knowing, of course."

"You are a sneaky git, James." Remus chuckled in the dark. The lights had just put themselves out. "Please don't get us attacked again. My heart couldn't take it."

"That sounds like it ought to be a textbook protection spell. A diagram, pentagram, or even a servitor." Peter's voice held a tone of curiosity.

"Well it's not. I haven't found one protection spell that claims your enemy can't hurt you, no matter what. He can walk around all day, but can't lift a finger against you."

Peter gasped. "Oh, that's what you mean. You're looking at it all wrong. That's not protection, that's manipulation. You're basically saying that you want to hurt him before he hurts you."

"Well, if you put it that way, that sounds worse than it really is."

"It's the exact opposite of what you first stated," Peter accused.

"Yeah well, got any ideas?"

"It's basically mind control."

"No zombie spells. I want him to think for himself, it's just that any finger he lifts against me, will be ineffective."

"You require a rather complicated, psychological spell then. Go back to the library and use the word 'subdue' as your key word. I bet you can trace it to all kinds of legal, perfectly safe spellcraft. There are ones for pet owners and aurors alike."

Subdue. The word appealed to James. "I'll do that."

In the meantime, he studied the cheat sheets from the Unbearable curse and got most everything he needed. Some items, like the 'Asian strain of red basquial wheat,' he could not get his hands on, and so substituted the next closest ingredient. This happened a few times. He did not ask his friends for help and respected their wishes to remain alive and to keep their promise to Snape.

He did the brewing in their bathroom at night. He sent for a necklace of slender pearls that he knew his mother was saving for him to give to a special girl one day. He only needed one, slipped it off, and reserved the rest of the string for Lily. He let his potion dry and ground it into a soft powder, which he bribed a house elf to sprinkle onto Snape's plate every dinner. Between classes, he tracked Snape for the minutes it took to recite words he didn't really understand, and to keep Snape in his sight while doing it on a daily basis.

While using his cloak to sneak into Snape's room, he drew the necessary line spells under Snapes' bed, left the pearl there, and concealed the whole thing with a secrecy spell. While snooping, he discovered a trunk. He could not break the spell on the lock, so he cast a heat surge from his wand onto the metal seems on the bottom of the trunk. Curiosity had him looking for any information he could file away against Snape. He only managed to pull out a few moth-eaten books, letters, and a few sketches of common field plants from Snape's fourth year.

As he was about to give up and hurry back to his room, his fingers went with the urge to pull on the scarlet cloth binding of a thin book. It was half the size of a standard text book and some of the pages tore as James slipped it out. It was a sketchbook. He flipped through it long enough to surmise that Snape was serious about drawing plants and all sorts of botany-type illustrations. Some of the plants were spliced to cut-open views and their various parts were listed with descriptions. It looked like a lot of boring cataloging. He was going to shove everything back when a colored, pastel drawing stood out among all the black and white line sketches. Lily's creamy face and warm, rusty hair stared out at him. Snape had exaggerated the hair color, but captured the sun in her smiling, squinted eyes, perfectly.

James could feel her in the pastel drawing, and had to give credit to Snape for an artistic delicateness he didn't know Snape possessed. This was big. The curve of her face, the depth of rendering sparkles in her eyes, even the sheen on her hair, all put her in a glow that practically illuminated the page it was drawn on. The drawing told Snape's secret. No, everyone knew Snape was sweet on Lily. No other girl had the balls to talk to him like they were old friends. The drawing told of Snape's obsession. Snape was in love. Snape, the coldest bastard he knew, was in love.

There were no other drawings of people throughout the book, and nothing else could be coaxed from the slender burn he'd made into the trunk. James tore the drawing out, stuffed all the other things back, and took off.

He didn't show the drawing to any of his friends. He kept it between the pages of his books, not merely admiring it, but letting it inspire him. This was a whole nother level to Snape. This was direct access to his center. Didn't love always do it? Didn't it always make an idiot out of people? What were the odds that he and Snape were both interested in the same girl? Like seriously interested. Seemed rather poetic that James would actually be dating her, while Snape could only draw pictures of her from afar. Nice touch, fate.

He spent days congratulating himself for having something Snape wanted, and for knowing the deeper extent of it. Perhaps, this sustained focus led him to the curse he was looking for. He didn't find a subduing spell under 'subdue'. Not the one he wanted, anyway. He found it under 'love spells'. That was perfect, because Snape's drawing had him imagining Snape trying to make Lily fall in love with him with it. He could see that the detail of the drawing mirrored all the affection Snape held for her, and could just as easily have been used to cast a spell on her. Every line and swipe of soft pigment, was absolutely filled with Snape. The fact that it was Lily's image, would've made a powerful spell combining both their essence. It was like cutting Snape's obsession right out of his brain and holding it in one's hand.

This thought sent him straight to spells he'd had no interest in before. He retraced his steps through discarded pages until he found the connection his heart told him was there.

The spell had many names and could be used for protection or inflicting malice. It could be used between lovers or between prisoners and jailers. Lover's Knot, King's Cross, and Fire Shackle, were just a few. And the most beautiful part of it was that Snape had already done the most important part of it form him. He'd put his soul into that drawing and given James everything he needed. Almost.

Lily's hair would seal the deal. Her biological blueprint, combined with Snape's purple affection, would tell the spell who was involved and what roles each were to play. He would have no problem getting the hair from her, she was already keen on him. And once he gave her the pearl necklace, she'd probably give him a lot more than a locket of hair. He would cast the spell the following week.

The Unbearable would be at the end of its incubation period by then. Snape could be expected to feel immense agitation as the ions in his cells lined up for the change. James would know that it was really working if Snape didn't show up for class those last three days. The cheat sheet said that recipients were most commonly bed-ridden before their bodies were the most conducive to the final, verbal castings. The following week would be the term break. James had already made arrangements not to go home, but to let his parents and Dumbledore think that he was staying at school to catch up on the work he missed during his hospital stay.

He knew that Snape wouldn't go home either. Since his fifth year, Snape never went to see his family for Yule break because there was no one to go home to.

James didn't reveal his findings until he was sure. He had to test it to be sure. Delicious anticipation had him following Snape a lot longer than he needed to. He was enjoying the chase. By lunchtime, he knew that Snape knew he was being followed and by who. He took it as a good sign that Snape had not blasted him into another bloody duel. Either stalking him wasn't pissing Snape off enough, or he couldn't do anything about it. The longer James followed, to the point of missing his classes, the more he realized he might be right. Snape wasn't attacking him because he couldn't. Maybe. He used the time to build his nerve. He was definitely going to do this, he just needed the right jumping off point.

Snape seemed to provide it when he turned from the beaten path and well lit corridors that his peers were taking. He disappeared into the second floor shadows and cobwebbed arches that were neglected by staff and students alike. Most of the rooms in that part of the castle were sealed off and announced out of bounds to students in their first year, due to the need for restoration and some ancient, unfriendly spells lingering from centuries prior. A seventh-year student had no problem bypassing the safety charms placed upon the entrance. Tentatively, James accepted the challenge and followed.

Snape moved deeper into the shadows. Sconces on the walls lit up as he walked by. It was clear that he could still use his magic, so James stayed twenty feet behind him. If the spell hadn't worked, Snape was merely giving him time to come closer.

James decided to speak up. "I just want to talk to you, Snape. Please give me a chance."

The corridor was so long that if it hadn't been for the flames on the walls, he would not have been able to see Snape. At the end, Snape turned and waited for his approach.

James walked towards him, hands up and facing outward, like a man showing he had nothing to hide. When they stood only a few feet apart, Snape's face took on its usual impassive mystery. With the flames casting their orange light on him, he looked especially delicious to James. 'There's your raven-haired beauty', Jame's sense of humor mocked. Suddenly the ambience and seclusion took on new appeal. He had only meant to corner Snape, to shout some feeble insult, hoping he wouldn't get wand-slapped back into the hospital. He hoped, because they were alone, Snape's dignity allowed him to get away with some minor injury. But if Snape was letting him this close, perhaps he could get closer.

"I know, my friends told me what you did for me. They told me how they promised to keep me away from you. It's been hard, but I made myself come to you. I swallowed a lot of pride, so give me a chance. Can I please approach you?"

The question appeared to inspire pure superiority in Snape. He unfolded his arms, lifted his head higher than eye-level, and allowed the folds of his robe to fall open in graceful, sinister shades of black elegance. "The only words you may say to me, are exactly two, and I don't care if you never have the decency to say them. That's the only warning you get."

"You didn't have to repair my body, but you did. I get that I must've been a real asshole. But why do you think I do that? Why do you think I go after you the way I do? Why do you think I can't leave you alone?"

He saw Snape's hand tighten on his wand.

"Because I'm fucking obsessed with you and everybody knows it."

Snape was already shaking his head, rejecting the admission.

"You won, already. There's no fight here."

"Then why have you followed me?"

"I wanted to talk to you, to see what you'd do. Are you going to hurt me for talking to you?"

"Say what you have to say."

In answer, James stepped closer until Snape told him to stop. "Why are you wasting my time? What do you want from me?"

"I want to say I'm sorry," James shrugged. Snape squinted like he could see through the layers of lies. James reached for his wand in his back pocket.

Snape aimed his wand. "Nothing could make me believe you're sorry. You don't know the meaning of sorry."

He fired. James lifted his wand.

It took a second to realize that nothing was happening. Nothing visible. Snape's blast never came and James suspended his shield in favor of watching the transformation on Snape's face. As Snape stared at him, his guarded vigilance took on alarm. Tension set around his eyes and drew the muscles in his face tight against something sharp, something painful. His bottom teeth showed themselves in the grip of some phantom that shook his wand from his hand. He bent, grunting against whatever seized him. It caused his arms to fold into his torso. He squeezed his fists against his chest, against the pain.

When Severus could breathe, his first breaths voiced the agony holding him hostage. Not a whimper, but a full blown sob of twisted grief shredded its way out of his throat. It was the cry of someone given no choice, and James relished it. The spell worked. It was stated that if Severus so much as raised a finger of intention to harm, or do violence, against his love, his nerves would respond to flames. Obviously, his intention to shut James up, got him a taste. The astonishing sight of tears spilling down his face, told James how potent the spell was. How strongly it had taken.

James stepped forward and picked up Snape's wand. Immediately, Snape's eyes cut him with anger so sharp, the resulting attack had Snape squeezing his eyes against instant torture. Heated rage fell from him in childish, dribbling cries that ran out of him, blind and stumbling in their helplessness. There was no dignity in cries like that. The absence of which, James knew, hurt Snape all the more. Where was his superior gaze now?

Snape was a fast learner. James watched him force himself to calm down and become very still. He leaned into his arms like he was shielding his body. He lowered his head and James knew it was only to keep the violence out of it. If Snape acted on anything he wanted to do to James right now, he'd end up unconscious and completely at James's mercy on the floor.

James was having too much fun. He took Snape by the robe and pulled him to his feet. He could feel the heat of Snape's rage, all while the other avoided his eyes. "Don't worry, this is new to me too. I won't ask you to look at me. I'll just let you turn around." He pushed Snape until he was facing up against the opposite wall. "I want you to be comfortable so that you can hear me when I tell you, I've got big plans for you."

He took the opportunity to press into Snape's back and push his groin into the curve of Snape's rear. That felt so good, he crushed himself against Snape, driving him flush against the stone. "Love is a powerful thing, Severus. It makes people give up their power." He shoved harder into Snape, liking those uncomfortable noises and garbled attempts to suppress them. He knew that Snape's mind had to be exploding with thoughts so intense, the Fire Shackle couldn't distinguish between the intent to harm, or the fear that inspired them. He rubbed and ground himself against the mound of Snape's ass, making his point.

"You see, I found a little something of yours. Something you left lying around. A little piece of your heart, you might say." He kept his voice low, while summoning the tension building between his legs.

"You put your whole fucking soul into a piece of paper. A picture of a beautiful girl. My girl, as it turns out." His sliding motion grew into shorter thrusts that jerked Snape off his heels. Snape had gone very quiet, so he knew he was listening. "A girl you couldn't fuck like this if you wanted to." His thrusts were aimed at driving those delicious noises from Snape. When none came, he pulled Snape into him by his hips, reached around and fisted him through his robe. This got a strangled grunt. James rubbed his face in Snape's thick hair, brushed it apart, and tasted the back of his neck.

"Now I have a magic locket. I'm literally wearing your love for her. I knew it was real when I saw that drawing. But now I know it's real because you can't lift a fucking finger against her. That's the spell. As long as I'm wearing the locket that contains her hair and the picture that you poured your fucking soul into, that knows how you feel, you can't hurt me. Your magic feels her, not me. It won't let you strike her, and if you try, you'll fucking burn like the witches of old. You can't hurt me, but I can hurt you now. I can make you sorry."

The friction gratified him. He pumped and ground himself to a finish against Snape, pretty sure it was a record. He was careful to kneed and pull at Snape's crotch, as unkindly as he could.

He whispered behind Snape's ear. "You didn't let me finish. I never said I was sorry. I said I _wanted_ to say I'm sorry. I want to. But I'm not. And I never will be. Have a nice Yule break."

He let go and watched as Snape held onto the wall. With his left hand, he tossed Snape's wand into the air and caught it. "This is mine now."


	6. Anniversary

Severus insisted on taking the mid exams, even when Professor McGonagall looked into his feverish eyes and told him to go to the infirmary. He summoned as much patience as he could to tell her, "I won't be able to rest until I've gotten this out of the way."

He couldn't believe he had to explain that, out loud, in front of everybody.

She couldn't believe he was still on his feet. He'd been looking strained and distracted for a few days. On any other student, at the approach of exams, that would've been normal. But Severus did not cave under the pressure of tests, he excelled. Now he sat in the Great Hall, struggling to hold his head up. The massive space around him had been converted with tables and benches to hold large scale testing, preceding the two-week Yule break. There was something so quietly distressed about Severus, she wanted to use her authority to send him off to look after himself. The exams were too important to have him risk taking them with anything less than optimum focus.

At present, he looked like someone struggling with the news of a death. His hair hung in heavy, limp clumps and clung to the sides of his moist and pasty cheeks. Twice, she pretended not to notice when she caught his chin trembling on some concern and he put his head in his hands, only to bring himself up quickly in an effort to stabilize. But he was right, he would rest much better once his exams were out of the way. The break would compensate for whatever was going on with his health. Honestly, it was a queer thing the way some students didn't take anything seriously and others practically killed themselves to receive the best marks. She made him promise to see Madame Pomfrey after class.

Of course, Severus did not see Madame Pomfrey. After three hours of exams, he decided that was enough examination for the day, and trudged back to his room. By then his body was shaking beneath his robes, and his head felt abnormally light and swollen, as if he could pitch forward with each step, or float away altogether. When the sounds around him didn't demand his attention, all he could hear was a swishing generator of white noise caused by the sound of blood racing through the veins of his ear. His sensitivity to sound and vibration escalated and he cursed the muggle side of himself for inheriting his father's susceptibility to cold and flu symptoms. It only happened when he worried, not because of any bug. No virus could get to him when he felt great. As it was, he had a few things keeping him from feeling his best.

The anniversary was coming up. That date that he didn't even have to think about. He didn't even have to write it down. His body reminded him every year with a fever and cold symptoms. This wasn't anything new. In some way, he understood that his symptoms were his body's way of acting on his desire to simply sleep through memories and grief. On some level, he knew he should be thanking his muggle genes and not blaming them. They made it possible to deliberately weaken himself when he was out of options, so that he had no choice but to sleep, and to allow greater parts of himself to regroup and to look at his situation anew. His spirit had a birds-eye view of what was around every corner. But his physical body could only see a few feet ahead of it. Illness announced it was time to let go.

But it did feel a hundred times worse for some reason. He wasn't going to pretend that reason had nothing to do with James and the power that monster had over him. He wasn't worried about exams. He was worried about getting his wand back. He was worried that the stupidest person in the school had actually found a way to overpower him. He was worried that his life could be influenced by James Potter for one second, let alone this immense, gaping whole of time, in which James could do anything he wanted to make his life hell.

Thanks to his mother's traditions, he knew how to make a new wand, and was in the process of doing so. But it took considerable skill and time, just to craft a crude one, let alone one of any discernible quality. That project was further delayed. He diluted his bitterness by affirming that he would get his original wand back. He wasn't giving up on it. Especially since this whole thing with James was far from over.

He'd worried himself sick trying to choke down that last indignity in the shadows. Students had tromped the halls mere meters away, ignorant of his torture. Severus was grateful that no one knew, that no one could see. But there was a twinge of regret that no one could help him. He knew it had something to do with distancing himself so much from his peers, that they could not respond to the very distress he wanted to be saved from, yet wanted no one to find out about, at the same time. He knew the impossible situation was of his own making. He should never have kept that drawing of Lily. He saw now that, in the wrong hands, it was a target to his weakest spot.

 _But she was worth it._

He didn't know what he hated more, the fact that James now knew his feelings for Lily, or James's power over him. Every time his mind exploded with the realization anew, of just how helpless James had rendered him, and how poorly he'd treated him, that's when tears sprang fresh. He'd be fine for hours, distracted by his studies, when the taste of dust and rock-grit burned his nostrils. The bones of his cheek smashed against the cold wall as James's chest pinned him with heat and sweat from behind. Those were just the details that seeped through the screen in his mind. He couldn't block them. It had been almost two weeks, and every day became a battle to stop the details and sensations from making him sick. He was constantly swallowing his revulsion at the feel of hot breath and inappropriate touches. He couldn't escape the groping. He still couldn't free himself from being locked in Sirius's jaws.

Of course he was going to get sick from being sick of it. Of course he couldn't sleep properly or eat. Once that stopped, his body had to make sacrifices. His immune system could not function at full capacity. That's all it was. It had to pass. What worried him, was not knowing what else James was going to do with his advantage. And not being able to keep the violence he wanted to do to James, from his mind. He'd had almost two weeks to practice not going into rages that saw the castle walls dripping with James's blood. When the anger inside of him didn't know where to put all that energy, that's when he burst into tears. He wasn't crying because he was hurt, he was crying because he couldn't kill Potter fast enough. As many times as he'd kicked himself for letting James's friends talk him into giving him another chance, it was only a matter of time before his body would succumb to pain. Of course he was ill, what else could he be?

He learned to manage the pain by using his mother's advice. "Whenever you are so angry at someone that you can't get them out of your mind, that's when you need to forgive them. It has nothing to do with them, but everything to do with your freedom from them. Picture them as a six-year old child, or even younger. See their little face, like you're a child and you're just meeting them on the playground for the first time. Really look at them. Immediately, you can't be angry with them. You can't hate that innocent face. When you see that child, you remember that both of you are just doing the best in a life you don't yet fully understand. You don't hate them in their child form. Play with them. Give them a gift and wish them well. You'll see, your feelings are not the same after that. You have taken the energy from one place, and put it somewhere else. It is no longer attacking you, and it was your feelings _about_ the other person the whole time. Not the other person, who is still the same. Don't ever forget how powerful your feelings are. They control your entire reality."

At first, his mind bulked at seeing James as less than anything but detestable. But that was a self-tormenting pit he kept having to crawl out of. When he grew tired of his own disgust, that's when he was able to put his mother's advice to use. In his mind, in a moment, he went back in time and discovered James before the cruelty took hold. He used the child form of himself to approach the other boy. For ten seconds, Severus allowed the little boy to shine that magic that all children have. Begrudgingly, he did feel some of the weight come off of his heart. When he could tolerate the fantasy for twenty seconds, he knew his relief was real, even if it was subtle. By the time he could stand in the same light with James for a whole minute, he did not want to hurt that little boy at all. He still wanted to kill adult James, but the need to do so was not so overwhelming. The fear of putting up with James's existence for one more day, didn't seem like such a threat.

In that fantasy, he had gleaned real information. Someone, somewhere, had taken James's power away. And what was left, was an entity determined never to be in that position again, even if it meant he had to attack before it was even provoked. Better to be the predator than the prey. Better to amass as much power and people on your side as you can. The biggest shove gets the biggest respect. Protection protection protection. He just became accustomed to striking first. That didn't excuse his actions. That didn't mean that he was forgiven. Until Severus rendered him no longer a threat, forgiveness could not root itself. But it did free Severus from the prison of his own hatred. Instead of being locked inside, he knew how to go out and get some air when he remembered how.

And he realized something that James didn't understand. Every predator is also the prey. They are two points along the same road of agreement. All one has to do, to break free of that cycle, is not agree to begin with. Victims feel helpless long before they are faced with the situation that fits their feelings perfectly. They are given time to realize that their feelings have the power to raise or to lower them out of the victim status completely. Some rabbits die of old age. Many rabbits refuse to grow old, and are not afraid of the excitement that will rip them from their physical bodies, so they can get another and learn more new things. Maybe even learn to walk upright and carry one of those shiny long things that sends all the creature scattering. See what that's like.

His mother's advice reminded him that people have forgotten that feelings are their power. Severus, himself, had forgotten. He'd been so caught up in James's spectacular display of being an arse, he'd let it hypnotize him right out of his own sanctuary of stability. This time of the year made him feel afraid and a little panicked inside. Okay, a lot panicked inside. It did make him feel helpless, like he needed to correct some horrible mistake, but he didn't know what to do. Of course, James and his stupid power struggle would appear. His mother's exercise showed him that he'd been letting his sense of powerlessness fester for two years now. The exact ratio of feeling unable to save her, matched the anguish he'd suffered at James's hands.

She warned him that he would have to cry sometime. He felt her among the witches now, though he suppressed her distinction from all others. He didn't know how to deal with it.

She'd known that he would find her that way, the way he had found her, and still she let it happen. A part of him was still too angry to discuss it with her and would not acknowledge how she'd left him. The strongest person he knew, in the end, played the part of the victim, and he still hadn't forgiven her for making him feel there was nothing he could do to save her. For every hole he plugged, his grief would find another way out. Apparently, it and James were a perfect match. On any other subject, Severus felt quite capable. But that one sent him hiding under the covers every time. There was nothing worse than seeing someone you love, hurt beyond your reach. Not one damn thing, and he wasn't ready to make peace with it. She didn't have to do it that way. She was a powerful witch, if she wanted to leave, she could've chosen a thousand other ways.

If his bitter, and powerful, feelings had manifested the likes of James Potter, then so be it. That was a demon he could face. It didn't look anything like his mother, yet it inspired the same rage. Like her, it insisted that he fight.

This is why he sought darkness and rest. His body promised that once he gave it what it needed, he would arrive at a solution. All the memories and chattering witches would go back to sleep.

In his room, he was relieved to see his roommates still gone. He felt a weird, heavy drain on his body. How could exhaustion be so painful? It did promise one good thing, there would be blessed, unconsciousness rising up to meet him. After days of lying awake at night, waiting for that son-of-bitch to make his next move, he would get some peace. Without removing his robe, he fell onto his bed.

Relief rushed up to meet him, in the form of his most loving memory. It was the feeling of someone pulling a blanket over him while he languished between afternoon dreams. Her hand stroked the hair at his temple and she whispered, _"It'll be okay, Severus. We're going to take care of you."_

By morning, he could not be awakened. Nothing his roommates tried roused him. Cold water, yelling, even pinching, put an end to their giggles at his weirdness. Their growing concern had them sending for a teacher. With her hand to his forehead, McGonagall assessed the situation. "I knew it. Stubborn Severus." She turned to the young men watching her, "Please ask Madame Pompfrey to send a bed. Make sure the stairs are cleared of students so that it can descend. Lucius, Crabbe, would you be so kind as to help me escort Severus to the infirmary?"

The floating bed attracted everyone's curiosity. Kids shuffled out of its way, only to crowd behind it, following it with open-mouthed concern. James Potter blended in smoothly among them. Excitement infused him to see the white bundle of mattress and sterile sheets make its way to the Slytherin dungeons. When it reappeared with Severus's body, and a host of Slytherin escorts to safely monitor its journey, he could've wept with happiness. The Unbearable was working. Instructions said that Snape would be bedridden and he was. Yes!

When all the other students drifted away to let the slender bed makes it's way down the hall, James followed. He waited outside the doors of the infirmary, paying close attention to the way Headmaster Dumbledore stood aside with McGonagall. The two watched Pomfrey and her assistant transfer Snape to a stationary bed with their wands.

James waited for an opportune moment.

Students and teachers alike were in the midst of vacating the school for the break. Trunks were being stowed, good-byes said, and the arrival of Hogwarts Express eagerly anticipated. Most of the staff would be leaving today, leaving only those most essential to minding the students who remained. Some teachers, like McGonagall, lived on the premises year-round, but still used the break to visit relatives or to vacation elsewhere. Madam Pompfrey was one of these. When she stood over Severus, she looked at him distastefully.

"Oh, dear. This is not going to be cleared up in forty-eight hours. This is not a muggle cold."

McGonagall leaned over. "What is it, Poppy?"

"It's grief. Happened last year. I don't forget a student's story."

"I don't recall, there's so many."

Pomfrey's voice lowered. "He found the body two years ago. His mother's. Bless his heart. Hasn't gone home for Yule since."

"Oh."

"He'll need looking after. I suppose I can stay on a few more days. My sister will understand."

Dumbledore offered, "Are you sure, Poppy, that one your assistants, or a house-elf, can't tend to Severus in your absence?"

She shook her head. "I can't allow that, everyone's made plans. I might as well stay on a few more days. I was going to be back in a week, but that'll just have to wait."

"Excuse me, Madame Pomfrey." James stuck his head in the room. They all looked up at him.

"I couldn't help but overhear." He approached with just the right amount of caution and respect.

"When I saw that it was Snape, I had to follow. We've only recently become friends and, well, I'm going to be here anyway for the break. I have to make up a lot of work. I wouldn't mind keeping an eye on him, if you've got plans to leave. If all he needs is a little watching and a meal brought to him, I can do that."

Madame Pompfrey, as well as the others, did a quick adjustment to the tilt of their heads, as if they had to make sure this was James Potter. The stern expression on Pomfrey's face told him that she had no choice but to consider it, weather she wanted to or not. It did fit her immediate need. He could practically hear her thinking, but did it fit Severus's?

Dumbledore spoke what everyone in the room was thinking. "You, James? It's only been a little over a month that you insulted Severus so badly that he wanted to kill you."

James was ready for him. "Yes, and that little curse of his taught me a valuable lesson." He raised his hand to let them all see how clean they were. "See? Curse is gone. Sev and I made up. I apologized. I said we were friends, I didn't say we were best friends. Okay, it's more like we're classmates willing to make a new start. I can't pretend that all that didn't happen. I just know we both said we'd make a change and we meant it. Now he's in need and I'm available to help. That's all."

They eyed him a little longer before Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Pompfrey. "Poppy, this is your call."

She folded her hands and cast heavy eyes to the floor before bracing her narrow frame against her decision. Everyone could see that she was dying to go.

"Severus will need bed rest for at least the next three days. If you are certain that you are up to it, simply try to get him to eat twice a day for two days. I shall leave you my emergency contact spell, should anything unusual arises. I will ask my assistant elf, Hess, to make himself available if you need help with anything small, like getting Severus to the bathroom. Just write either of our names on the parchment note I give you, and we will answer the call as soon as we can. I will be back in two days to check on Severus, myself. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Yes Ma'am." He put so much formality into it, all three looked alarmed.

"I mean, no problem. In fact, If you think he'll be more comfortable, Severus can share my room while my other mates are gone. We'll be good company for each other. When he starts to come 'round, we might actually go to Hogsmeade for butterbeer."

Dumbledore stated bluntly. "This is a test, James. Your history with Severus cannot be ignored. Do well by him, and your efforts will be rewarded. There are charms about the castle that assist in the well-being of our students. While they don't always catch every indignity, they alert me to the most serious offenses. As you say, Severus has healed you, extended his forgiveness, and now you would like to do him a favor. I will not deny you that opportunity. But realize, it is given only as a probationary allowance. You are asking us to trust in you, and we are saying that you must prove yourself. Now is the time for you to take that seriously."

It took everything James had, not to roll his eyes. "With respect, I get it. Nobody trusts me around Snape. That's fine, I deserve that. It's all the more reason I'm looking forward to showing you I've risen above all the pranks. At least, I won't try anything until he's back on his feet." He grinned, exhibiting his best clean-cut façade. He knew they saw a wholesome, bespectacled young man using humor as an attempt to make amends. "Makes for better competition."

Finally, McGonagall, released some of the pointedness in her stare. Pompfrey's mouth softened, and Dumbledore relented. "Very well, Mr. Potter. We'll make sure a bed is prepared fresh in your quarters before the staff clears out. There will be a skeleton staff present to make sure meals are gotten to you. If you write my name on Poppy's parchment, I too can be alerted, should you need me."

"I won't let you down, Headmaster."

His instructions were explicit. Make sure you stop one last time in the room before you board the train. Drop off your cases, have lunch, and come back. He knew he couldn't rely on their exactitude, so he added, "I'm going to send you off with an amazing surprise. I'm saving it for last."

There were two schedules. The last train was due to leave at four, with an hour for preboarding. By two-forty, James was ready. The bedroom had been cleaned at Pomfrey's orders. It smelled of citrus disinfectant. All four poster beds were freshened with new linens and scarlet, Gryffindor coverlets. Snape's suitcase, packed by elves, sat at the foot of James's bed. Best of all, Snape lay dozing in that very bed.

On his back, he looked thinner without his black, uniform robe. The sight of him wearing a stark white T-shirt, his faintly damp hair pouring down over it, made him seem vulnerable to James. Pompfrey insisted that her medical staff bathe him and wash his hair before taking their leave, since it was unlikely he'd receive another for two days, possibly three. For all her extra fussing, James could tell it was the guilt of leaving him, which was influencing her decisions. This delayed James's plans but gave him time to work out what he would say to his friends. Things had gone better than he could've hoped. It was like he was getting help from some hidden force.

Pomfrey even made another superb last minute decision, "I'm going to give him something to make sure he sleeps through the night. His roommates say he's up all hours, probably why he's in the shape he's in."

"Okay." He actually mouthed the words 'thank you' to her back.

When Sirius, Remus, and Peter entered their room, James realized his mistake in not having a camera to capture the looks on their faces. He'd watched for them, heard them, and ran to the bed. He propped himself onto the covers beside Snape's sleeping form, put his arm on the pillow above Snape's head, and waited for his troops to take it all in. They rounded the door and stopped. Peter bumped into them, dropping his one carry-on bag allowed on the train.

James grinned. If he had to put words to the open mouths and straining stares, he'd use words like 'ill,' 'fear,' and 'blown away.' Only Remus's face smeared into something that could be construed as horror. Either way, they saw him. They had no choice but to take it all in. He motioned, sweeping his hand over the scene before them. He didn't even have to say, "Didn't I tell ya?"

"Oh my god," were the first words out Sirius's mouth. "That's not good. That's definitely not good."

"What have you done, James?" Remus tried to step back but Peter was in the way.

Peter covered his mouth with his hands. James could see hysteria bulging his eyes and draining the color in his cheeks.

"Gentlemen, I give you, Severus Snape. Our Slytherin houseguest for the next few days. At least, that's what Dumbledor thinks."

"But what…"

"How did you…"

"Is he dead?"

They all looked at Peter.

"That's the only way I can make sense of this," he defended himself. "You tried the spell and it killed him. Otherwise, why is Snape in your bed?"

"Why isn't he defending himself," Sirius asked.

"Why isn't he awake?"

"Wait. Is that someone using Polyjuice? This isn't funny, James."

"You morons. The spell is working! They found Snape unconscious this morning, just like the spell said he would be. Pomfrey thinks he's having a nervous breakdown and I'm in charge of watching him over the break. I am a powerful fucking wizard, and I did it without your help."

"Hang on," Remus insisted. "Don't say another word. He can probably hear us. Let's go outside."

James laughed. "Nope. Trust me, Snape is well under. And even if he were awake, there's not a damn thing he can do."

Sirius stepped forward. "What the hell makes you so confident? That's the same guy who had birds, ugly as sin, rip my fucking eyes out. Now you've brought him back here and he's going to blame all of us. We were supposed to keep you away from him. You're a bloody prick, James. You just put us all right back in his curse."

Remus and Peter backed him up with murmurs of agreement.

"Did I?" James sat up. "Did I send you back to that hell, or have I given you the power to dominate it?"

He removed something from his pocket and made pitches to each of them. "Check it out."

He gave them a moment to linger in confusion over the objects in their hands.

"Lockets?" Peter asked.

James removed his from inside his collar. "No, amulets. This is how you make Severus your bitch. I've made one for each of you, and I know they work. If they didn't, Sev would be awake right now and hexing me into my next life. Those are your tickets to taking your dignity back."

They fiddled with the lockets. He told them what the spell was. "You all have a piece of the drawing and a clip of the hair. You all have the spell."

Remus let out his exasperation. "Okay, let's say this works. What now? What do you hope to prove?"

"I hope to prove that it is perfectly safe for you three to stay with me over break. Stay with me, and lets have some fun with the guy who tried to kill us. Let's make him sorry he ever tried that shite with us. I'm giving you your balls back. How 'bout it?"

"That's absurd." Remus put his hands in his pockets. "Even if he hadn't demonstrated advanced wizardry skills, he's clearly incapacitated. What satisfaction are you going to get from attacking an unconscious guy? Kinda takes the thrill out of it, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, don't worry. By the time things really get exciting, he'll be wide awake and helpless as hell. There's got to be some part of you that doesn't want to miss that. I mean, it should never be okay that he just raked the forest with our corpses, basically. Why is it, that what I'm doing is so terrible, but what he got away with, is perfectly acceptable?"

When no appeared to have a reply, Peter jumped in. "Because we started it."

"Did we? All I remember is asking to be his friend and getting that fucking ice shield he's so good at blocking people with. A man can take rejection, just leave him some dignity. We retaliated. We got way more than what we deserved. He was going to fucking kill me. Kill me. Are you telling me that you guys would've been fine with that? Like I deserved that? Why isn't he in Azkaban right now?"

James looked at Snape. "I've got it all planned. He'll stay here for the next three days, just until Pomfrey and Dumbledore are sure we're taking care of him. He'll be fully awake when she says he's okay enough to stay the hell away. That's when we get him to Hogsmeade. I've rented two rooms over the Antsy Bale, the last shop at the end of the village. Kids don't go there, it's mainly just an inn. That's where we'll finish the spell. We'll have plenty of privacy. Once we start the last incantation, at least one of us has to be awake thirty-six hours. We can take turns."

"Wait a minute," Peter interrupted. "That's not how it goes. Whoever begins the incantation has to see it through for thirty-six hours. That means if we start this with you, we'll all have to participate equally."

"No, it means that we can take turns and make things easier on all of us."

Remus came closer to the bed. "That's why you need us. That's why we have these lockets. You can't do this alone. This isn't about getting our dignity back."

James mocked him. "Oh yeah, screw James for wanting us to stand up for ourselves, rather than being stomped on by the strongest wizard who comes along. Whether you get your bleeding dignity back or not, I don't give a shite. I'm in it for the fun of beating Severus at his own game. At first it was a prank, now it's the most perfect answer to being left for dead on this very floor. Maybe it was fun getting your arms ripped off or your eyes plucked out. You three might be fine with your illusions of what could've been very real. But I'm not. It wasn't fun feeling my guts squeeze through my fingers because I couldn't hold them in! I can't let this motherfucker ever have that much power over me again. I'm going to show him. I'm going to show him!"

They had all been nearing the bed, ready to make their case against James. But these words brought them at a stand still.

Remus stepped on thin ice. "You do realize you're mad for a bloke. "

"No, I'm only interested in him as a female. That's why I'm turning him into a woman."

He shrugged. "Did you just hear any of the words out of your mouth?"

"Relax, Remus. It's Sev. It's not like he's a real guy. You remember what you said about being female in the womb."

"I fucking guessed at that, I wasn't quoting some book of truth."

"My gut tells me you guessed right."

"Your gut should be telling you to leave that boy alone, after the slicing he gave it."

"Hey, you don't have to be so negative."

"You're planning a kidnapping and rape, and I'm the one being negative?"

James pointed at him, shaking his head. "That's not it, that's not the reality. The reality is, Snape and I are going to do some catching up over the holidays. We both have to be here. If I happen to get that smooch, if he happens to have a change of heart, that's not kidnapping and that's not a crime."

"Oh my god. You're banking everything on the hopes that this spell, or whatever, is going to completely control his mind."

"That, and the Obliviate spell."

"You're out of your mind."

"Look mate, the most brilliant minds in the school took one look at him and they all think he's having a nervous breakdown over his mummy, of all things. If that isn't fate smiling upon my plans, then I don't know what is. I have the Universe's blessing to make this happen."

"No, if they think it's grief, it just means you're making him really miserable. He's not going to forgive you. There's no turning back after this."

"That's what I'm saying. I'm not turning back."

Remus had another card to play. "James, this is too serious. I see your point and in another time, that would've been fun. But things have changed. You've just told us you're going to kidnap Snape for real. We never thought you'd get this far. We have to go to Dumbledore with this."

"Good, I was hoping you'd say that. I get to inform you that if I even suspect you might tell anyone, I'll harm Severus. That relieves you of the obligation to go running to Dumbledore or anyone else. You're free to join me and say that you had no choice, because you didn't want Snape to get hurt. In fact, if you let me do the spell alone, Snape could die. If you really wanted to help Snape, join me, and make sure I don't fuck things up for him too badly. No matter what, if you get on that train and say nothing, you're accomplices now. If you're going to turn me into Dumbledore, now's the time to do it."

Only Remus looked like James had just played the most evil chess move ever. Sirius's slow grin held an air of admiration. Peter looked horrified. "James!"

"Oh, for the love of god, do you see how terrified he has all of you? We never took shite like that from anybody. I want my boys back. My troops. Not these neutered, rule-obeying twits, afraid to get one toe out of line. This is Severus! Our favorite geek. I think even he would be disappointed in you, given the magnitude of this ammunition. He sure as hell didn't hold back when had us in his grip."

Sirius came up to the bed. He looked Snape over, keeping his appraisal to himself. Then he asked, "How do we know this little trinket is really going to protect us? Can you bloody guarantee it?"

A grin spread like melting butter across James's face. "Allow me to demonstrate."

He turned to Snape. "Severus, Dear."

When two playful slaps got Snape to open his eyes, Sirius, Remus, and Peter stepped back. Dark irises shifted beneath Snape's lids, watery and unfocused. The slack muscles in his face kept his expression void. He looked at them without seeing them, without caring, before his eyelids softly closed again. James hurried and pushed himself into Snape's unguarded mouth. He crushed his lips against Snape's and took control of them. His friends gasped. The sight pushed their heads back, but willed their bodies forward. James prolonged the kiss for their benefit as well as his. He made a point of showing he wasn't afraid of diving deep into Snape's mouth.

All kinds of whispered expletives went up from his friends. Snape's unresponsive, thin pink lips, looked especially appealing with James's tongue demonstrating its fleshy fearlessness by sliding in and out between them.

Sirius, who was still holding his bag, let it fall to his feet. "I'm in."

Remus wanted to drop his head, but the sight of Snape's lips giving way to James, held him prisoner.

Peter cleared his throat. "That's enough, James. I think it's obvious what we have to do."

When James pulled himself from Snape, his red mouth grinned at them. "See? I'm still alive."

"That's because he's out of it. He's really sick. We have to stay with James to protect Severus, to convince him that it's not us," Peter pointed out. "We're the only things that stand between this being a prank or a real crime. We should stay. If we don't, James really might do something stupid. I'm staying. It might save Snape's life."

James pulled a face of self-pity, but he knew he didn't have to say another word. He knew he'd paved the way for them to indulge in the oncoming festivities, with their self-righteousness intact. No greater gift could he give to them, than the ability to watch Snape's humbling, while telling themselves they were helpless to stop it.

"That's settled. Hurry and get your things off the train."

Beside James, Severus roused long enough to take in the red curtains on the bed and the three boys looking at him. His blood fizzed in his veins. It sizzled at the base of his neck. He heard it. He felt out of alignment from his body and wondered if he should be more concerned. There was something he needed to do. Something important. But his body fought with him to lie back down. It felt like these boys were holding him and smothering him. They kept sticking slimy things into his mouth. He was starting to get really angry, when he heard the promise again.

 _Shhh… We're going to take care of you, Severus. Sleep._

* * *

 **Note:** Thank you for the groans of unhappiness. They made me realize a juicy nugget. Ok, for those of you who are filled with gloom and depression, James has the greatest prize of all in his bed! Severus is displayed with regalness. You're going to have to read between the lines, I don't like spelling all the mystery out for the reader, but some of you seem unprepared that this fic isn't Walt Disney or even canon HP. James DOES NOT want to hurt Severus, he wants Severus to want him, to accept him on intimate terms. Do not be deceived by his words, even he isn't clear on his deeper emotions. (At 16, I loved discovering the deeper stories _between the lines_ of Anne Rice books! ) James is so confident that he's worthy of Severus, that he's convinced himself it's ok to do what he's doing. He thinks Severus will come around. And Severus might.

James _is_ taking care of Severus, he's just doing it in a way that makes us all nervous. Severus is the doll James was never allowed to play with, the doll with the great hair (power). Remember that comment Sev's mother made about impoverished girls? James hit the jackpot. Why should he let anyone take it away from him? I write psychological puzzles. I push the tension as much as I can, that's where the story is for me. It's fun! If I didn't, this story would be too predictable to be interesting. There is going to be suffering. Any semblance of "romance" is going to come with a fight or struggle. Characters that are agreeable and easy with each other are BORING. (Not always, but I don't write those well). Turn back now to protect yourself. Always, peace.


	7. Spell Matrix

At first it hurt. It really hurt. But he mastered it.

He could only pretend to be asleep for so long. The first time Severus awoke, his surroundings made so little sense to him, and James Potter staring directly into his face made even less so, that he turned his back to it all and fell under again. But there was less fever, and less medicine to allow him to escape so easily on the second day. He had to face it.

 _Someone_ had helped him to the bathroom last night. His fall from the bed had been real enough, because he couldn't right himself in covers that twisted around his legs. Someone had touched his arm, pulled him up, and guided him through the unfamiliar room. His critical thinking, he surmised, had acted to protect him from analyzing and knowing more than he was ready to know. Although, if he had to guess, he felt that measure of patience and gentleness could only come from Peter or possibly Remus. Details of the heavier person, left him. Only a tone in the voice, hinted at its identity.

"It's okay, Severus. Just let me walk you in there. I'll wait outside for you."

Definitely Peter. The one who apologized before any of them.

As unsettling as it was to wince at his Gryffindor surroundings, it did drive home the realization of how sick he was. Dumbledore would never allow this, unless something was really wrong with him. The fever still had the back of his skull humming. It created the effect of a tuning fork in his brain. It kept him from being fully present, but he knew he was out of place. He knew that if he didn't find his way back to sleep, he could end up face to face with the one person he couldn't bear seeing at the moment. He must've fallen out the minute he returned to the bed.

Now the sun was up, and so were his new roommates. Did he have questions? Yes. Could he remain calm enough to ask them before the anger took over? No. The better part of the morning was spent getting the pain to manageable levels. Now that he was fully awake, the biggest hurdle was remaining conscious while holding any of the four Gryffindors in his thoughts. Anger swelled inside him so quickly at the thought of being in their room, being alone with them, that pain seized his body every time he so much as opened his eyes or heard one of them speak. The worst thing, was hearing them discuss him.

"I can't tell if his fever is worse, or if he's just pissed."

"What's going on?"

"He keeps groaning and crying out. He opens his eyes and squeezes them tight again. He's got real tears and everything."

"Pompfrey'll be here soon. She can sort it."

"She can't sort the curse."

"No, but Snape can't rat me out. That would be dangerous for me, and our friend can't do anything against me."

"You mean, 'us'."

"Yeah, us, she'll have to find improvement or take him back to the infirmary."

Comments like that had Snape twisting and crying out. An invisible fire reminded him that he could not do to James, what he wanted to do. His first hours of consciousness were spent just managing the pain.

"He'll be fine. He's gotta learn to keep his thoughts peaceful towards us. Better he figure out how do to that now, than at the inn."

"I can't watch this." Remus was the first to leave, followed by Peter and Sirius.

Another seizure of leaping nerves had him biting his lip and trembling through it. By noon, his T-shirt was soaked in sweat. Even the idea of imagining James as a child, had him furious to expend so much mental energy on the bastard. He didn't deserve to live in Severus's mind for one minute, let alone day after day.

As if pushing the limit, James hovered over Severus and encouraged him to open his eyes. "You've been in my care for two days, Snape. If I wanted to hurt you, I would've done so by now. I'm not trying to hurt you. In fact, I'm proving to everyone that I can take care of you in your time of need."

In response to these words, the Fire Shackle attacked Severus so badly, that it tossed him on the mattress and shook saliva from his clinched teeth. He bore down on the pain until he lost consciousness. This scenario repeated itself three times before his defenses tore an escape route through his brain. His nervous system short-circuited, refusing to tolerate James or the curse, and ejected Severus from the experience altogether. Lightning leapt across his neural synapses, burning old receptors as it went and exploding new ones into connectedness. His resulting stillness might've been the process by which he rewired himself in his body. It certainly startled James, who took Severus by the arms and shook him.

"C'mon, Snape. You can't hate me that much. You're being a right bloody bastard, you know that? I haven't done anything to you in two days, and I've had the perfect opportunity."

James's words no longer had the same effect on Severus, who looked down on both James and his body, from above. The pain was gone. Completely gone. The only thing that interested Severus in that moment, was the relief he felt to be free of it. The second most interesting thing to him, were the spells that glowed all around his body. He saw them in layers, as if they fit like a multi-dimensional puzzle of moving sparks and parts, in his auric field. Some were entire wheels of embers, enclosing his body and pulsing with gyroscopic resolutions around other wheels. Some were diagrams and lines of instruction that arched behind his shoulders. Some took the form of objects, casting ephemeral light to them, as any ray might shine onto glasses in a cupboard.

His body was riddled with spells, not all of them James's. Not just his body, but that part of him that spreads beyond the body. For the first time he saw the matrix of magic in which he existed. He saw the formulas and programs running in concerted execution around him. There were places in his being represented by points on his body. Those points opened codes to other spells and other matrixes, as if the designs of scientists, were behind the existence of his life.

 _No, not your life. Only your connection to this world._

He felt the voice more than he heard it. He looked for the speaker. When she appeared to his left, a veil of sheer black, darkened her face. She seemed to extend from a point of oval shadow, with a dim light at its center. Her arm reached out of that shadow and swept around the room. She invited him to focus on the other witches coming into view. At first all were inky orbs with a small, pulsing whiteness at their core. But as the orbs filled the room, confusing the boundaries of the walls with a greater, more endless space, some of them emitted cores of heated reds and gentle blues. Some wavered between the two. And some performed spectacular flashes and spectrums of pink and gold, just to show that they could. But all seemed to have a base mode of black orb with an inner shine. The sight soothed him so much, it lured him away from the feelings endured by his physical body.

In the midst of the dancing points of shadowed light, like the first one, others shifted into human forms. They let him see faces behind veils that corresponded in color to their light. Their faces did not remain constant, but shifted quickly back into vague layers of veils. He knew from this, that they were showing him the blueprints of their former bodies, still held in their memories. They were saying hello.

As they displayed themselves, introducing him not only to them, but to another level of his existence, he realized that he knew them by their energy. Their habits of energy. Who they were, were as pronounced as anyone's mood or daily proclivity towards doing the things that made them who they were. A smoker's energy retained the form of smoking. An artist's energy continued to create. Someone who loved to take tea with each sunrise, still did so.

Only now, they were free from physical limits. But that also meant, things did not have the importance that only the slipping away of time could give it. Meaning was not the same. In an Earth, fear-based existence, priority was given to survival. In a realm where all one could do was exist, priorities escalated to feeling what one wanted to feel, as much as one wanted to feel it. There was only intensities, not time. There was only the thrilling ride of experience. When one emotion lost momentum, one simply created the drama that would allow another one to take them higher. This wasn't Heaven or Hell, it was simply a perfect match to those who didn't want to be anywhere else. And Severus's intolerance of captivity, let him find it.

 _Welcome back,_ the witch thought into his mind.

 _Thank you,_ he instinctively responded. He was grateful. If he'd been in his body, it would've wept with relief and joy. From this vantage point, he saw now that his physical life, while ok by most standards, was only a dream compared to this more vivid way of seeing and knowing. All he had to do was look at something, the witches, the spells, even James, and he knew it more intimately. Information came from it like emotional data. Even if he stared at the walls, they revealed corridors and long passageways leading to other places he need only think himself to.

The idea of letting go and racing through them tempted him. The out-of-body state in general, was not new to him. But he'd never consciously reached this level before. Certainly not enough to maintain awareness of it and to operation in it. Why wasn't he soaring through the constellations, or racing around the planet, in the form of energy, air and water? It was exhilarating to crash through every substance and material found on this planet, out of sheer delight that he could not be destroyed. That he didn't have to be afraid of anything, because he was made of everything. The corridors of space called him to freedom. As soon as he considered it, the body on the bed pulled him back.

On it, James touched his arm. Signals leapt, instantly alerting him to his ownership of the arm and the energy flowing through it. That was his body and it had too much life in it for him to ignore it.

 _Your work isn't done. You don't want to abandon the project now,_ the witch insisted.

"I'm not going back to that body." He didn't know if he spoke it or merely thought it. In this space, both had the same effect of being equally understood.

She drew closer to him. Her energy let him know that what he saw, was only a representation. A symbol. What she really was, was many and varied beings. Many witches spoke through her, not just one.

 _Look at the spells around you. They are yours to dismantle as you wish. From this level, you can see them._

He looked again at the diagrams and calligraphy scripted around his body. They glowed, sparking like the edges of burnt paper carried by a breeze. At first, the formations looked too busy, too complicated to make sense. But like everything he held in his attention, the more he focused, the more the symbols revealed their meanings. There were so many spells. Some even put there before this life, by him. Many placed by his mother, and two filled with James's erratic energy.

He also saw the pre-birth spells around James. It made him realize that what they were calling spells, were just programming experiences. Anyone could program a physical life experience if they knew how. Until they learned, they would be at the mercy of default programming, or the ones who weren't afraid to master it, like witches and wizards. For some reason, this made him think of his father. He immediately saw programming that cut Tobias off from his magic. Programming put there by him. A life-long question had just been answered in less than a second.

The witch got his attention. _Look at the fire binding you._

He made himself discern the fire spell from all the others. It looked like chicken scratch and spindly strands of it actually connected to the object hiding beneath James's collar. In that moment, his strongest desire acted before he could think it away. It swooped down, took hold of the strands, and jerked them from their connections as effectively as any wire torn from its power source. He saw his physical body, already still, let go of a denser tension, and collapse into cellular release. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead and tears of thankfulness spilled from his closed eyes.

"Dammit, Snape! Snap out of it. Pomfrey'll be here any minute. This is nothing but a tantrum. You're just mad because I beat you at your own game."

Severus realized there was some truth to that. But it was irrelevant. He never agreed to any game. Now that he was free of James's stupid curse, he had to decide if he really wanted to go back.

 _You agreed to come, to weave your part of the spell. You are using your life-energy, as your mother used hers. You are part of the same team of creators. She left you a shelf of gifts, stored there, for the day you would have use of them._

Faint reflections took on sharper definition behind his shoulder. As he zero'd in on them, the bed and body gave way to a cupboard suspended in a starlit vacuum. On a shelf, sat jars of glowing light.

 _Do not let the trauma of the body run you from your purpose. You came from many lesser lives, to fulfill this one. Do not let such a weak-minded boy, upset your plans._

He didn't know, or remember, what his plans were. But he felt all that she was not saying with words. He felt the magnitude of decision to come and to specialize in a way that he could not in any other existence. This was his. He had the sense that if he let it go to James, he would be losing a part of himself, not just his claim on physical space. One renewed one's energy by living it, not by giving up on what one wanted.

 _You have to want to live, Severus._

He did want to live. He wanted to thrive.

 _So now that you are free from the curse, why don't you?_

Did he go back? Did he go back and show James he was free? Only to have the boy's harassment torture him day after day? No. If he went back, he'd want to kill James and be done with that part of life.

 _Then kill him._

Her meaning rang true. It meant kill his body, just as he has forced you to flee yours. His soul can never die, so you can have as much fun killing his body as you dare to have. And if killing isn't your thing, at least spells are. Make it fun for you. Play with him. He's in love. Make him wish that he had chosen someone else to force his affection on. How well you play, is how well you cast your life-spell. Don't be afraid of pain. After all, you conquered being burned at the stake. This is nothing.

You graduated to this magic, while your prosecutors remain stuck in misunderstanding. James can't leave you alone, because his spells chase you across the illusion of time. In life after life, you never give him what he wants, and he never forgives you for it. You feed off of each other's anger. He lit the wood and straw at your feet, then lost his self-worth with the last of your screams. He fell from grace when he did that, and your wicked, beautiful hair serves to remind him of his lost wings. They were black wings, for none of you are strictly human. It's a game eternal creatures play. Bliss and torment are the stakes, for ones as powerful and unending as yourselves. You stay in love, you stay enamoured of your inner fires, and this looks like magic to those trapped in the illusion.

If he has put you in a prison, then show him you can put him into an even worse one. In greater realms, you are using love and hate to build exciting structures. When you have abandoned those structures, they will make tantalizing, life-giving landscapes for others. Isn't that what a love affair should be? You forgave him ages ago. In his guilt, which he spells into each life, so that he can find you, he breaks his body against your merciless denial. He will do terrible things to you because you've done terrible things to his heart. He burned you, not because of your witchcraft, but because you refused to love him back. Be rid of him, but do it on your terms. Answer his need, but make if fun for you. Go back to your body. But destroy his. Be creative. It may be your finest spell.

All of this understanding came on the heels of her last words. It flashed in his mind and he looked on the site of his body and James anew. So many spells hovered over the two of them. So much magic. From this vantage point, with his power back in his hands, it did look more like a challenge than a problem. This had him drawing near the emotions that connected him to his body. Resuming his place in it, was no more a thought, than he lay flat on his back, eyes opening in response to James's cursing.

"Christ, there you are. I though I'd killed you."

The bed felt solid enough beneath him. His body's familiar density told him he was back in it. It was hot and uncomfortable, but it wasn't in pain.

"Sev, I know I've been a twit. I just cast the fire curse to protect myself, not to keep torturing you. You're a baddass wizard, how else was I gonna survive a conversation with you?"

He looked passed James's shoulder. He kept looking out into the room, until his eyes adjusted to what he knew was there. It took some practice, but he saw that the tiny black orbs, with their faint lights, were still with them. He could no longer see the spells in the air around him. But now that he knew they were there, he retained the advantage.

"You got sick and Dumbledore trusted me to look after you for a few days. I didn't kidnap you, if that's what you're thinking. No. When you go with me to the inn, everyone's going to see you walking out of here on your own. That's what the Fire Shackle is for."

James's confidence annoyed Severus so much, it must've slipped onto his face. Severus tried to put his building rage into his fists, away from his expression. James froze, not liking what he saw. Before his brain could settle on doubting whether or not the Fire Shackle was still working, Severus strained to imitate an attack from the spell. In doing so, he successfully recreated the pain that had thrust him from his body to begin with. Once out, he reached for the spell James wore around his neck, pulled hard on it's broken strings, and brought them back to him. Instantly, his body went taut with pain. But this time, began to breathe in a way that pushed it out and made it less.

Push beyond the pain. He had not been armed with this information before now. Somehow, it just made sense. He heard a collective snicker and instantly knew the witches were sharing the technique that got them through childbirth. If he thought only of breathing, he could not think of James. The pain had to subside.

"God, Severus. Why do you hate me so much? Why do you hate someone who only wants to be your friend? You kicked me aside like a fucking turd, who wouldn't want a little payback? Then when you handed our asses back to us, well, we were in a whole nother league after that. Now that I know I'm not just picking on some helpless, pathetic kid, I can really have some fun. If you're that strong, you take anything I dish out and probably give it back pretty good."

James leaned closer to his face. "See, that's what makes a great fuck, and I ain't just talking sex. I could get all the sex I want from girls. Especially muggles, who fuck with their bodies. That's great and all, but wizards have magic. I want a taste of your magic, Severus. You could play nice and give it to me. I did stay true to my word. I've been looking after you. I even brushed your hair. Or you can fight me. Either way, you owe me. In another life, another place, you clipped my wings. It feels like you did something to me. Since I'm stuck on this planet, you're stuck with me."

This time, when James kissed him, he didn't have to pretend to be in pain. He gripped the sheets, unable to use the breathing technique, as James indulged himself. Without the Fire Shackle, he would not have been able to tolerate two more seconds of James. The curse forced him to play his part. As long as James thought he was trapped by the spell, he would not see Severus working his magic from the other side of it. Severus wanted time to sift through all the spells around him, to examine his resources and pull from the best ones, to find the perfect one to rid himself of James Potter once and for all. Simple murder held no appeal. If James's soul had really latched onto him, he wanted something stronger. Something that would leave its mark, and its finality, in this lifetime.

Just as he thought he might be growing more able to endure the pain, consciousness left him again. Instead of returning him to the witches, he drifted into activity elsewhere in his spirit's kingdom.


	8. Creation

It was a difficult night. Fifteen year-old Severus dreamt that something had a hold of him, gripping his neck like a vice, crushing it. He couldn't wake up. He couldn't breathe. Even when he knew he was dreaming, he couldn't wake up. When he was finally able to tear himself out of it, he awoke to the relief of his quiet bedroom. The window by his bed let moonlight spill full onto his blankets. It told him, the world was still there, even if he had temporarily left it.

Silence throughout the house, told him his father had finally stopped yelling. His father never yelled, so when he started, Severus tried to see where it would lead. It was going to be a bad argument. His mother made him go to his room. He was pretty sure she'd spelled him to fall asleep as well. The dream, he figured, symbolized his will fighting to free itself from her restrictions. He resented when she used her power over him like that, taking away his choice. But she said she usually only did it because it was going to amount to a lot of nothing that he needn't take into his sensitive mind.

"You're too good a son to have to put up with the likes of that. You don't know how to let things go. It's simply something that would cause you unnecessary pain and you can't do anything about it anyway. Enjoy your book."

He knew what it was about. Yesterday morning had seen him accompanying his father's duck hunt in the predawn hours. At the sight of their last kill, they found the bird lying next to a mound of freshly loosened earth. A dirty, red string of yarn lay stretching from the mound to where the duck's body lay. It looked as if a rodent had given up on the battle to pull it free. It was a curious site to both of them. Tobias pulled on the string, meeting with resistance. As soon as Severus chuckled, his father glared at him. "Wipe that smirk off your face. Trust me, lad, there's nothing funny about this."

Tobias unearthed two dirt-crusted, knitted booties and a canning jar stuffed with cloth and paper. He went to the trouble of opening the jar, examining the blank paper and rusty spots on the cloth. His face became very red. "You. You know witch stuff. Tell me what this says."

The request startled Severus. It didn't occur to him to refuse. His father thrust the paper at him in an irrational, panicked sort of way. Severus didn't have to use a spell to view the hidden message, he saw it plainly written in lemon juice. The chemical reaction between acid and paper, plus the spell to hide it, produced a pink trail of graceful long script.

"It just says, 'Rest my dear, your sweet head here. Mommy loves you. Now is not the time. Go back in peace. Now is not the time."

Tobias was shaking. "Blasted curse."

"What's wrong? What does it mean?"

Tobias looked at him. "It means, these woods are full of witches, that's what it means. Come on. I pray a boy like you never knows what this is."

Back at the house, his father washed and put on civilized clothes while his mother cleaned the duck. They would have a special feast tomorrow, in observance of the holiday reprieve given to most of the English working class. Severus noticed how his father never commented on their find all day and gave him a stern look when he casually mentioned seeing yarn sticking out of the ground. It wasn't an accident that he'd blurted it. He felt his mother should have some warning. While he didn't know what the spell was, he knew her handwriting. He knew the yarn from her basket. He knew his father knew that yarn as well. His mother's back was to him as she worked. He saw her pause and stiffen before resuming her efforts on the birds. "Well, what a strange find," was all she said.

It was only after dinner, with a rare indulgence of strong drink, that Tobias began thinking out loud on the find. "You know, it don't take magic to see the truth. Right's right and wrong is wrong. God doesn't give life, just to have it snuffed out. How long have women been putting babies in jars?"

"Do you mind reading in your room, Severus?" She'd just cleaned the kitchen and ran a hot pail of salt-bath for her feet. Her request really meant, 'Your father is about to say stupid things that I don't want you to hear.' Severus had wanted to discuss the advanced spells he was learning at school with her, but he didn't argue.

From his room, he tried to glean what was really wrong. Even though their voices grew louder, they grew harder to decipher. That was a spell, he knew. He didn't know if it was on the room itself, or had something to do with the weight of drowsiness crashing over him. He plunged into the confines of sleep and unsettling dreams.

Once he fought himself awake, the morning cold got him out of bed. He summoned warmth from the small hearth in his room. He knew some of his muggle neighbors had furnaces and even automatic heating and air, but their house was old, and he still enjoyed the glow of firelight, even if one did have to toss ashes out everyday. Coming from his room, he noticed that the whole house was cold. This was very unusual, as his mother was up before everyone, especially when he was home on school break. He should've been smelling coffee, muffins, and sausages, while her radio played the muggle music she enjoyed so much.

He understood. The argument must've been so bad, they weren't speaking to each other. When she and Tobias weren't speaking, nothing got done. On rare occasion in the past, it happened that way. When it did, his mother would not lift a finger to contribute to her husband's satisfaction, until she was good and ready. Once, she even packed, took Severus, and they stayed gone for three whole days, to show Tobias what life was like without her. They'd stayed in a motel. But that was years ago, when Severus was eleven. The event had Tobias promising to show her appreciation, and to let her keep the runt piglet she was trying to save, in the house, in the very bassinet that had been Severus's, beside their bed. Her daily routine was fit for a soldier, but you take her baby pig away, and she's done with you. Severus realized very quickly, it was never about the piglet. It was about her freedom to enjoy the things she enjoyed, without losing her husband's respect.

Upheavals like that, had their place in a marriage, Severus knew. Whenever he woke up to a house without warmth or delicious smells, he knew he'd better take care of things the best he could, till it all blew over. He entered their bedroom, saw them sleeping, and set about clearing ashes and restoring their fire as quietly as possible. By the time his father came out and slumped at the dinning table, in the same clothes he'd worn the day before, Severus had coffee and eggs ready for him.

Tobias rested his head on his hand. He looked at his son with something that kept Severus moving, avoiding conversation. When Severus sat down across from him, ready to bow his head in preliminary grace, which his father fully expected of him, Tobias said, "Stop yer grace."

At first Severus wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. All his life, every meal had been drilled with making a display of thankfulness, like if he didn't prove it for others to see, he was somehow ungrateful for it. Where his mother allowed a more natural, "The deliciousness that you taste, is your thanks, Severus. You need not prove it to your maker, who knows everything."

His father had been adamant, "No one eats without saying grace." Even Eileen made a show of honoring his wishes. But she and Severus knew that it was just a ceremony they did to make him happy.

That's another reason Severus didn't do people. He didn't like their ceremonies, full of constantly proving one's worthiness. Just let one of the believers catch you _not_ doing one of their rituals, like you signed a contract or something, to do everything your neighbors do. Just let them catch you at one of your favorite rituals, like burning sage in your tulips so you'll have some during the winter. See what a gossipy stink it causes.

Phlegm garbled Tobias's words. "There's no grace in this house, boy. You listen. It ends today. May god forgive me, but I can't do this anymore." His fists shook on the table. Tears stood in his eyes. "She's killed my children for the last time. I let her get away with it for the last time."

Severus's bewilderment, was his only response.

Tobias grabbed his arm. "I dug up eight jars before you came. Those are just the ones I found. She refused my babies, so she ripped them from her womb. She wasn't ever going to tell me, 'cept the midwife had to tend to her. That other witch told me what she'd done. The last one before you, didn't come out of her till he was almost done. She forced him out. Said she couldn't bring a child into this world that couldn't make its own magic. She said the world would just break it and toss it aside, and she wasn't going to let any child of hers suffer like that."

Tobia's sour breath continued in rushed bursts. "The midwife said it was the worst case she'd ever seen. My wife admitted causing the blood to come early, then burying it with a gift to pacify the spirit. Then the rest of it comes. The women say that's how it works. Only, Eileen was too far along to do it in secret. Something went wrong and it took the midwife to get it out of her. That's when she told me, she refused to have a child without its magical protection. My babies weren't good enough for her."

As startling as this revelation was, Severus put distance between himself and his father's tears. When he tried to pull his arm out of Tobias's grasp, his father held on.

"You. She only wanted you. I let her talk me into her spells. I only wanted her happy, I didn't know what she was doing. I didn't know there was a forest full of jars. I would've done anything to give her a baby good enough. She promised, that once it worked, she'd never have need to use them awful spells ever again. She promised. I found them every few years. It was like I could sniff them out. God tells me when I'm being wronged."

Through his touch, Severus felt his father's arm tremble.

"The jar we found yesterday was fresh. That's her good yarn, she didn't have that color till she sold her meat pies. Not two full weeks ago. After all these years, all my love and sweat, nothing that comes from me will ever be good enough for her. She says she's just defending the innocent, giving them back to their maker, that she does love me. Says she can't stand to see nothing helpless. She accused me of being helpless, of putting up with work that brings me no joy. She may be right, but I've done all right for us. Regardless, she's killed my children for the last time. If anyone deserves to go back to their maker, it's her."

These words hit Severus like blunt force. He tore from his father's grip and stood.

Tobias should've known that he was making an enemy of his son with every word told against his mother. It wasn't meant for muggles to understand a witch's way. Blasting a hole through a creature, instead of putting it gently to sleep before killing it, was just as heartbreaking and offensive to a witch's sensibilities, as anything his father described seeing. His mother possessed foresight. If she could see a life of servitude and misery for her muggle children, if she was the door that gave them passage, then she had a right to close her door. She had a right to say who could pass through it. And Severus's sharpest instincts told him that all of those jars were not his mother's. Long before men figured out that women were not mindless, baby-makers, even muggle women had learned to hide their authority over their own bodies, as if decisions of life and death belonged to courtrooms instead of the very bodies that created it.

With a wordless scowl that would one day ripen to assaulting perfection, Severus left his father and headed for his mother's room. If this unfortunate man couldn't understand by now, that a spirit couldn't be killed, that they are forever, then he never would. Why couldn't his muggle mind comprehend that every life discards old bodies for new ones, even the flowers? For all his father's talk of eternal salvation, it was just lip service. Not one of those children lost their lives. They only lost permission to use his mother's womb, to use those defective bodies. Her magic, and his father's beaten down lineage, were not compatible bloodlines. Every cell in Tobias's body was affected by his disapproval of magic. His resentment. He had won the woman of his dreams, but he couldn't tame her. All of the losses had been mutual agreement between mother and child. A muggle couldn't understand.

No wonder his mother didn't want muggle children, who went their whole lives bemoaning so-called misfortune and ignoring the billions of things functioning in perfection, every minute of every day, just so they could have a great sunrise, a great planet, and a heart that knew, without instruction, how to beat for as long as they were privileged to have it. They went around blaming some god for a difficult life, when life entered and exited their lungs effortlessly, when they let it. They forget, mankind invented all the misery. Mankind invented all the grim life-long servitude that has nothing to do with a person's private kingdom, magic or not. And escape was through one's joy. One's private, intimate, unique joy. If Severus could find that in books, in learning, in his imagination, then why the hell couldn't his father?

Severus wished he could've explained what happens with spirit, to his father. If one door into this world, isn't willing, the spirit finds another one, just like people find compatible relationships. The soul cannot be killed. His mother was right to keep saying no until she got a match that suited her. But you don't explain things like that to his father, who needed proof. Yet he needed no proof that that his unborn had been murdered forevermore, and were not actually sitting across from him in their most appropriate form, or not meant for him to begin with.

He approached his mother's bedroom. In the dark, the fire glowed softly. He realized tears were streaming down his face before he crossed to open the curtains. He was crying before he made it to the bed. His magic, his knowing, told him what he would find. He knew it. When she hadn't gotten up, he knew it. Some part of him, had just been doing everything it could not to have to admit it. Not to have to see it. His father had practically told him. And now that he reached out to feel her with his magic, antennae to antennae, he felt her. But her essence didn't come from the body under the covers. It came from behind him. It whispered his name and blew a kiss against his face. _I'm free._

His feet moved heavily to the bed. He sat down on it, wracked with sobs. He let these subside as much as he could before steadying his nerve and pulling the covers down. He bit his lip. There she was. Eyes closed in finality. Hair spread over her pillowcase. Her freckles were dulled by a grey tint to her skin, that also darkened her lips. Her arms lay folded, wrists up by her shoulders. He saw the bruises there first, all along her arms. The quilted sleeves of her gown rode up her thin arms. Then the marks on her neck came into focus. Strangled.

She deserved better than that. Now he understood. He had tuned into her when it happened. She imprisoned him in sleep and still, he felt the hands around her throat. People were shouting. They had been all morning. It had taken everything in him to fight for his own illusion of peace and quiet. Now that he saw, the energy of the witches broke through. He was weakened enough to let it. The urge to fight, to run and to use his wand to rip his father's heart right out of his chest, was real. The urge to use his fists, to beat until there was nothing left but globular chunks of bone and teeth, was real. The urge to strangle, to break those tiny bones in his father's scrawny neck, was right there, pecking on his shoulder. But all he could do was bury his head into his mother's shoulder and weep into her hair.

That was how the authorities found him. A concerned knock, brought around their neighbor, Anmarice, who wanted to pay his mother for the meat pies she was to have ready that morning. Anmarice was a stout, piano playing, Scottish school teacher, who gave free lessons to the neighborhood children. When his father hadn't answered the door, even though she saw him through the window, and even though she could hear awful sounds of someone wailing inside, she went and got her husband. By the time he broke it open, they had attracted other neighbors. As a precaution, several men entered the strange setting and were left heartbroken at the sight. Anmarice was the only one able to persuade Severus to leave his mother's side.

Severus watched the muggle police very carefully around his mother's body. So much so, that he barely marked the moment they handcuffed his father and took him away. The way the police lifted her onto their stretcher, the way their sheet insensitively covered her face. This was his father's muggle world, and in its laws, they had become enmeshed. Until the authorities satisfied themselves with their autopsies and investigations, the hidden witches and wizards among them, would have to wait to perform their ceremonies. She had a living sister, Severus knew, but they hadn't spoken since his mother married Tobias. Tobias had siblings aplenty, scattered throughout Manchester and Stockport. But the two times he remembered seeing anyone from his father's side pay a visit, his mother was expected to wait on them like a servant and he was made to stay out of sight. Apparently, neither family had been keen on the marriage.

Everyone in the neighborhood saw them take his parents away. Tobias in one vehicle, Eileen in another. It seemed that everyone he'd grown up with, stood behind the tape line, wishing they could help him. He wasn't particularly close to any of them, but he felt the outpouring of their concern. Among the crowd, he found a set of intense eyes fixed upon him, surrounded by tender freckles and hair that imitated the sun's orange spectrum. Lily Evans stood with her sister, Petunia. Petunia was trying to pull her away from the crowd of kids, to the car where their parents waited. She wouldn't budge. The sisters lived three blocks away. Like everyone else, they had come to see if the news was true.

Severus was supposed to go with a neighbor after the police interviewed him. More than one, including Anmarice, opened their doors to him that night. No one was going to let him stay there alone and no one was going to allow Child Services to place him in foster care, however temporary. The authorities needed time to contact his next of kin. He didn't want to go with any of them, but felt especially unable to get out of it when Lily took his arm. It was hours later and he didn't even know where she'd come from, or how she managed to get through the throng of people standing outside the gate. "Mum's already said yes. You're my friend, Severus, we can't let you stay here by yourself."

He looked up to see her parents standing behind her. Their smiles were sympathetic and reassuring. "Just till this gets sorted, Severus," her father had insisted. "We'd love to have you. Lily has told us wonderful things about you."

He didn't know Mr. and Mrs. Evans very well, and he hadn't known that his infrequent discussions with Lily, whenever she caught him roaming the woods that connected their streets, meant anything at all to her. Their classes at Hogwarts, and the fact that they appeared to be the only witch and wizard on their street, had ended in a few memorable sunsets and discussions. But that was the first time she'd ever referred to him as her friend. Maybe he was just off, because of his grief, but he let her talk him into packing a bag and getting into their car. He hardly knew what his body was doing. He went through the motions, but she was the one gathering his toothbrush and finding a clean trash bag when she couldn't locate a proper suitcase.

He did everything he thought he was supposed to do, in terms of polite etiquette. That is, he didn't talk. He couldn't talk. He sat at their dinner table because they insisted. When they saw he couldn't eat, they looked embarrassed for not realizing it themselves. "You probably just want to go to your room. Lily, show Severus the guest room," Mrs. Evans fixed the situation.

Lily tried to sit on the bed and talk to him until he had to ask her to be alone. He was too uncomfortable to lie down. When the strange house, with its plush, marble-grey and blue carpet in every room, and automatic heating that remained constant, did finally go dark and quiet, he let himself out and headed for home. Lily caught up with him out on her sidewalk. Instead of being foolish enough to think she could talk him into staying, she bundled up in her tennis shoes, robe and coat, and trudged with him back to his house.

Seeing as how he couldn't get rid of her, he gave her hot chocolate and made a fire in the living room wood stove. On an old rug, they let the warmth soothe them. The tears came off and on, until Severus couldn't hold his eyes open. He felt a blanket landing over his shoulders and drifting to cover the rest of his body. That gentle billow, and the fingers that drifted into his hair at his temple, had him opening his eyes to see that it was Lily giving into her natural instinct. Good people were like that. Like his mother. They could touch so easily, and weren't uptight about getting it wrong or feeling awkward. Not like him. As his eyes closed again, he wished he could touch like that, and have it not be such a big deal for him. So much affection came from the tips of her fingers, Severus wondered if his mother had possessed her, just for a moment, to touch him one last time.

 _Yes, Severus. Sleep._

The sight of Madame Pomfrey shining her wandlight into his pupils, caused him to awaken.

"There you are. Thought you'd gone comatose," she joked. Over her shoulder, Dumbledore peered with intense interest. Behind him, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter stayed further to the other side of the room.

"It looks like Mr. Potter's bedside manner is better than I thought. Are you feeling any better?"

He almost winced at the mention of James's name. But he saw one of the witches, in full veiled form, standing by James. She made a rope and noose with her hands and pretended to hang herself. This was completely unexpected. He suppressed his laughter so hard, kept his face so straight, that tears stung his eyes. It felt good to want to laugh. Pompfrey and Dumbledore squinted at him.

"I think I'm just sore from lying here."

This complete sentence, spoken in monotone, devoid of any hostility, caused jaws to drop. James and his friends looked at each other.

Pomfrey began putting items back into her bag. "Your fever's down. Get up and stir around, but not too much. Your meal is here, I expect you to eat as much as you can. Are you comfortable in this room? Now that you're awake, we can make other arrangements."

At this, four pairs of eyes behind Dumbledore, grew very wide. As they anticipated his answer, their weight leaned against the footboard of a single bed. The witch pushed on the bed, sending them collapsing under their own weight. When Pompfrey looked, Peter was the last to jump back to his feet. Dumbledore's stare was quizzical, but not that interested in the clumsiness. He and Pompfrey turned back to Severus, who deliberately stopped himself from smiling by wishing a knife into James's chest. Once the pain hit him, he knew he wore an expression that Dumbledore and Pomfrey had to take seriously.

"On second thought," She said. "Would you be adverse to staying a little longer? Two days, perhaps. James will make sure you get some exercise. The company seems to have done you well. I'll be in the infirmary, but there's no one there to keep you company. All the beds are empty so far, but I'll leave it up to you."

The witch positioned herself behind James, made a fist, then plunged it into his chest. James began coughing.

Severus had to visualize James falling to the floor in a pool of blood, in order to hide his delight. He answered in his most emotionless voice, "I will stay."

Peter's and Remus's eyeballs nearly left their sockets. Sirius had broken into a sweat and James couldn't stop coughing.

"Good call. I'm sorry I doubted you boys," she told them over her shoulder. "James knows how to get a hold of me, should you require anything."

When she stood, Dumbledore came forward, "Would you mind if I had a moment alone with Severus?"

He spoke more to James and his friends than he did to Pompfrey. The boys stammered and excused themselves behind her. James's excessive coughing and throat-clearing left with him. The witch shrugged and sat on the bed.

As expected, Dumbledore made exactly fifteen seconds of small talk before getting to the point.

"Tell the truth, Severus. How are they treating you?"

Severus kept his eyes on the witch. "Okay. They're not that bad."

"You don't seem like yourself. Is that the grief I know you must be feeling? Or are you hiding something? You've shown more cooperation with these boys in the last five minutes than you have in six years. I must inquire as deeply as I can, as to the cause."

Across from him, the witch played an invisible violin.

"I've never had friends before. I've never had other guys willing to stay with me over the holidays. It's not as bad as I thought."

Dumbledore expected more and waited for it.

"By himself, James is difficult. But Peter and Remus make him tolerable. "

Dumbledore's BS detector strained to catch a whiff of lie. Severus knew this, and kept his statements noncommittal and neutral. If he made it seem like James and his friends were just one more inconvenience he didn't care enough to push against, he could get the Headmaster off his scent. It wasn't going to do, to have him interfere with his plans. He had to let Dumbledore think that he wanted to be with James.

"Very well, Severus. I have an uneasy feeling, but you're a smart boy. You know how to get in touch with me if you have need of it. I'm going to trust you to use your best judgement. Any sign of James's old habits, and I want you back in your room, is that clear?"

Severus nodded. Dumbledore was not going to condemn him to being alone, even though Severus honestly loved pretending to have the castle to himself when students were away. In happier times, he fell in love with the school blanketed in snow and silence. Mornings of gold shafting through the empty halls and blue evening light, were a paradise to him. In recent years, when couldn't sleep anymore, he used the beauty and silence to soothe him. It looked like this Yule was going to see something new. Something magic.

Dumbledore excused himself. By the time James and his friends returned, rushing to Severus's bed to find out what the hell was going on, he lay prone on his back. His eyes were closed and he did not respond to them. Could his cooperation be attributed to James's curse, or was there something more to his sudden willingness and ability to speak without convulsing from pain?

When they touched his arm and tried to wake him, Severus resisted the distraction. He wasn't asleep. He was studying the labyrinth of spells around him, trying to figure out which ones were safe to disturb and which ones were not. He noted James's other spell, and how it stacked clumsily in his personal space. It looked like a double helix made of children's building blocks. He walked around it and watched it lean in every direction he moved. It was an ugly, nasty eyesore compared to the graceful equations of magic built around him. And the cupboard, just standing there among the stars, waiting for the day he would open it, was ingenious. It was a little piece of home. He opened its glass doors and looked upon the nine jars within, in awe.

Each jar contained his mother's magic. For every life that did not complete its form inside of her, she contained the magic she put into it. She invested it and saved it. The bodies of those babies could not absorb it. She set it aside for the one who would one day come, who would need more than his share, to do what he had to do. Severus needed a powerful spell. Between the jars and the hidden codes around him, still burning in some eternal fire, he existed in a laboratory of magic. He now understood the artist his mother had been, and how she used life and death to paint the boldest of realities for herself.

Her spells gave her the son she wanted. Her death empowered him with access to greater magic. Her foresight had shown her that he would be imprisoned by pain one day. He couldn't prove it, but he was pretty sure she used the life that she allowed to be cut short, for the ninth jar. Its liquid light soothed him and promised that together, they would make the perfect spell. A spell that answered everything Potter had done to him, and even better, put an end to it all. He was the masterpiece of the most powerful he witch he knew. He would take his inheritance, and make a masterpiece of his own.

* * *

Note: If Eileen had not stored the energy of her previous pregnancies, Severus would be unable to defend himself against James's magic.


	9. The Debt

**Note:** I'm going to answer this question in advance. Yes, there will be regular sex (whatever your take on that is…) But I have to take an unusual route to it. I admit this story has turned into a complicated mother*fkr* But I knew it would from chapter one, when I started having Snape touch on previous life memories and purposes. (In fact, I wrote 'Unbearable Draco' as a warm up to make sure I was ready to write this one.)

My subconscious was saying, 'Just shut up and let me tell you the story.' Well, it's gone into overdrive. Snape is a complicated character and I couldn't honor him in any other way than with complicated sex and magical mastery. This will be too much of a challenge to some, and they will lose interest. That's okay. This story exists for readers who want to explore unknown paths with their favorite Potions Master and are ready for the challenge. Its public and spontaneous creation every week, is the challenge I signed up for, and the risk that any reader is taking. For those of you still reading, thank you for following along. I've got a great story to finish, and it will make you dream!

 ***Miscalculation alert. The spell incantation takes 72 hours, not 36. Sorry.**

* * *

Snape had been gone for two hours. James stood over his breakfast tray, arms folded, clenching and unclenching his fist. He needed Snape to return on time.

Timing was everything. He had it figured out. They started the incantation yesterday. It should've been started when Snape was at his weakest, but visits from Pomfrey and Dumbledore would've ruined that. The two authorities had to see Snape on his feet and functioning before they would allow three consecutive days to go by without checking on him. James needed seventy-two hours of uninterruption before the Unbearable could be finished. When none of them agreed to wait at the inn, chanting the last leg of the spell, James had to be creative. He did talk Sirius into giving it the first six hours.

"I'll take over when I show up. If any of us needs a break, we have a backup plan."

It was eerie, the way Snape seemed so agreeable the past two days. James couldn't stop him from going back to his room, for the time being. He told Snape, "Let Dumbledore see that you're fine. Then come back, we're going to Hogsmeade this evening."

He tried to sound casual, but added, "It would hurt me if you didn't come back."

As he was want to do now, Snape looked past James, making no commitment, and left the room.

Attempting to stop him from going back to his room would arouse concern. Pomfrey and Dumbledore fully expected Snape back in his room and going about his business before they would drop the matter. Whatever Snape did now, he did it on his own. That was the finishing touch, but as James watched Snape disappear out the door, he hissed at Remus, "Follow him. Make sure he comes back."

It wasn't enough that Snape hadn't managed to overthrow the curse, or that he'd learned to calm himself and accept James's presence without triggering the pain. James didn't trust this new, even quieter, Snape for one minute. He knew it was too good to be true. He knew those black eyes were judging him and weighing the moment when the situation would change. The Unbearable had to be cast before that happened. Letting Snape walk out the door felt like a huge gamble. He had to remind himself that the locket had gotten him this far, it would bring Snape back.

Four days spent watching over Snape, had him anxious. He'd only left the room for minutes at a time, while Sirius and the others came and went, looking for whatever sport could be had on the grounds. They worked on their map, found a couple more secret passages, and added spells that would reveal the name of anyone inside the school. When they weren't watching the impromptu Quidditch games, provided by small teams of students and staff who had also stayed over the break, they went ahead to the inn and set things up according to James's instruction.

Peter was there now, making sure the equipment and supplies were ready. It had taken a small argument to convince him.

"Recording? You're going to record the incantation, play it for three days, and hope for the best? Are you seriously risking all our careers just so that you can half-ass this spell any way you can?"

James shot back. "I've thought this through. The recording is just a back up. If all four of us say the incantation and spell it to repeat with vocal accuracy, then loop on itself, the spell won't know any difference."

"Spells work with life energy, in-the-moment energy. Are you a wizard or aren't you? A mechanical recording has no magic."

"For god's sake, Peter, the magic's already done."

"But the incantation brings everything to a head."

"Then are you willing to sit in that room and repeat three Latin pages over and over for the next three days?"

"This is your spell, you should do it."

"I didn't think so. If you want to see the end of this, just take a sample of us reading it, set it up, and shut the hell up." And in case all of it really worked, they had a muggle video camera.

While curfew still applied, all four of them produced letters from their families, permitting them to celebrate a few days off grounds, including two overnight stays at the inn. What they didn't tell Dumbledore, is that they'd discovered two separate passages in the castle that could get them access to Hogsmeade if they didn't mind dangerous, filthy subterranean tunnels. The oldest one was left behind from the founding of the school, and came out a quarter of a mile from Hogsmeade. The other must've been no older than the village. It opened in an abandoned storage cellar. Peter and Remus were supposed to update their map to show any activity on both passages.

James told himself many things to stay on track. Some of them, he believed. Others, he knew, was bullshit. But it got him through the stress. And why exactly was he stressed? He was winning.

Part of it was endurance. He'd never planned anything that lasted this long to carry out. He knew what Snape was capable of, so he wasn't stupid enough to get comfortable and think there was no more work to do. He had to see this through. There was something on the other side of it, and not just Snape's humiliation. Since having him in his room, watching him, lying next to him when the others were away, James had begun to wish things were different. He half hoped that if he treated Snape well enough, there would be no retaliation. There would be enlightenment and forgiveness. He knew he was fooling himself, but that's what having Snape in his room made him want.

Those were nice thoughts for a while, until desire, and his advantage took over. Then he remembered there would be no forgiveness. Not if Snape knew everything. That's what the drugs were for. He'd put on his cloak and stole them from Pompfrey's bag. He remembered the bottle from what she'd given Snape, to help him stay asleep, when he first fell ill. He had given it to Snape, in warm, watered wine that she prescribed for him. He'd sent his friends out on their errands, waited till Snape was asleep, and ruined whatever chance of forgiveness there was between them. He knew it was going to end badly, not because he feared Snape, but because he couldn't stop.

All of it really hinged on getting to the other side of the spell. Once he accomplished that, Snape would be so vulnerable, so fragile, he'd have to accept whatever kindness James offered him. If he offered him kindness. Once he had Snape's legs spread, he wasn't sure how cool he could pay it. That bastard needed what was coming to him. On the other hand, if the curse left him damaged enough, James could have it both ways. He'd known girls who reacted to cruelty by giving in. Isn't that, on some level, what Snape had already done? What's a few more steps?

He knew what a few more steps were. They were dangerous. Those black eyes were playing him as much as he was playing them. He felt it. It was too exciting to turn back. This was the best chase ever. It proved he was right about Snape. If he had it in him to be this good a challenge, what was it going to be like to fuck him?

James didn't realize how tense he was until Snape walked back through the door. Instead of feeling relief, he tensed he even more. Remus lingered just outside. The look on his face said he was getting tired of being James's lackey.

"Thank you, Remus." James dismissed him.

Even after four days, there was no polite chit-chat between Snape and anyone, no half-truce or white flag conversation. Snape's unsmiling presence simply understated, 'I'm here.' James saw that he carried two books. He intended to be comfortable. See, that was a win. His prisoner was choosing comfort over fighting.

"Thank you for coming back, Severus."

Snape moved into the room. James picked up a goblet left beside his breakfast. "The elves brought your breakfast. Looks like you'll be back in the dinning hall after this."

Those black eyes took in the little tray, the goblet, and James's expectancy. Snape ignored the food, took the goblet, downed it, then spread his books on the bed. James watched him peruse them, taking his time deciding which one interested him the most. As Snape's long fingers traced embossed lettering over his book jackets, he lowered his head, allowing his hair to fall in layers, concealing his face. James took this for the invitation that it was. Snape was allowing him to look at him, without being watched back. James went very still watching him. In minutes, Snape's book dropped from his hands and his body fell to the side, his hair completely covered his face.

James knew that he was out. No faking it. He'd mastered the dosage. He had to. He only had a short time before the guys would be back, and he couldn't stop doing it. Now was his last chance before Hogsmeade, where they'd all be closed up together. The second room was for privacy, but who the hell knew how much privacy anyone would have. He had to do it now, or wait. And he couldn't wait.

He shoved the books off the bed, shifted Snape's body, and climbed on top of him gingerly. For the past two days, he'd had to steal these moments when he could. He risked it at night, when the others were asleep. But the best time, was when they were out. He didn't have to worry about anyone seeing. And if the guys did happen to see, he'd tell them to go straight to hell. This wasn't like the time he took Snape's wand. He'd hunched Snape's backside just to gloat, to make him feel weak and to prove he'd won that battle. But now was different.

At some point, when the others found amusement outside the room, James had watched Snape sleep for a little too long. He had touched his hair and kissed his mouth too freely to deny himself a little more exploration. Yesterday, he took the plunge and slid his hand down the length of Snape's body, not stopping at his groin. He made himself cuff Snape through his trousers, just to prove that he wasn't afraid of anything. He really let himself feel it, not like before when the point was to be as mean as spontaneity allowed. He gripped it really hard, until he felt it pulse through the cloth. That was strange and new, another guy's cock sliding in his hand.

When lightning didn't strike him and Dumbledore didn't manifest in his all-seeing, full condemnation, through some spying ward on the wall, James squeezed it with interest and tried to get Snape's body to like what he was doing.

He discovered that his own body liked it. It didn't take more prodding than that, to get him fully on top of Snape. Every time the annoying thought of being found out, came up, he told himself it was just Snape. Not some guy. It's okay to be attracted to Snape. He'd already convinced himself that Snape was really a witch, disguised in a male form. He was about to expose the truth with the Unbearable. That's all. And knowing his friends the way he did, he knew none of them would pass up a chance to take his fill, given the opportunity. The call was too strong. By the time he moved Snape's legs open a little more, and sank himself between them, he felt too good to care about the particulars. All he knew was, he couldn't get enough friction.

He hadn't been ready to do more than slide against Snape's body, letting their clothes torment him in just the right way. He hadn't expected it to feel so good that he couldn't stop. It was supposed to have been a quirk, a stupid curiosity conquered. But his need hit him so hard, he found himself trying to go deeper into Snape, lifting Snape's packed thighs around his hips to create more of an enclosure. More delicious friction.

It wasn't like a girl's body. In sleep, Snape's long muscles, retained their masculine thew. His heaviness forced James to admit he was dealing with a male. By that point, it simply didn't matter. James's body wanted what it wanted. He drove against Snape like he had the world's blessing. He even let himself release sounds he never released in a room with three other blokes at night. It felt great to let it all out. When it first happened, he had no idea his orgasm would be that hard and that good, with Snape's complete lack of conscious involvement. And now that he knew, he couldn't stop doing it.

Today, he went a little further, easing down his zipper and spreading Snape's trousers open. Even though underwear kept their skin from touching, the heat, texture, and fullness of what lay beneath, filled James with exquisite, detailed information. No, a bloke's body wasn't bad at all. James's gut boiled, shaking him so that he had to clamp down to stop himself from spilling against Snape. It was too much too soon. As lovely as it was, he wanted to make it last.

Arms folded, Snape studied what James did to his physical body. At first, it infuriated him. It forced him to try to stop it. Attempts to strike from his current form, left him unable to make contact. The witches could somehow affect physical objects, but they did it with energy and thought, not physical bodies. At present, they weren't helping him. Their varied bodies, orbs and spirit form, waited behind him, like actors in the wings of a stage. They waited for him to figure it out, as if they'd anticipated he'd come to this inevitable test. His flesh-body was too overpowered by whatever drug James used, for him to make it move the way he wanted it to. Every time he attempted it, either the feel of James on top of him, or nausea from the drug, pushed him out again. James had overdosed him. His liver was fighting it. The idiot.

He knew the cup was drugged when he took it, but he thought it would induce sleep, not a near-death experience. He knew what the risk of sleeping was, and knew he had more to gain from letting it unfold. But nothing quite prepared him for the sight, nor the feel of being mounted by James.

The witches attempted to be respectful of his assault, but nothing was hidden in this realm. Their thoughts trickled from them like notes from a flute. Some of the witches were angry. But those were the ones who accepted any excuse for revenge. They were bloodthirsty. But some of them just wanted him to learn.

 _This is very special,_ they told him. _Don't let your anger conquer you. Pay attention._

He tried. All he could see was his desire to attack back.

 _Don't. Look at the light around him._

It took a moment for his sight to adjust. He had to remind himself that everything had its own degree of reality outside his body. He wasn't using his physical eyes, and therefore was not limited to what was physical. James's physical body was doing one thing, but the light around him was doing something else.

Severus couldn't even see the bands of light unless he made it a point to focus on them, so subtle were the differences between dense and less dense bodies. The light pulsated in a doughnut-shaped torus around James. It was the same one that everyone carried. But as James took liberties against him, it did something Severus had never seen anyone's aura do. It pulsed faster and fractured into bands that lifted in a spiral above James's body.

They reminded Severus of the eternal bands of scripted fire that encircled him. But those bands were spells. What he saw rising from James, appeared more natural, like a light source.

The witches told him, _It's his fourth body. Everyone has seven bodies._

Her words gave him the sensation of a cool whisper against his ear. In that stream of gentle breath, she gave him understanding.

Only the third body is physical. Only the third body is an Earthen body. They all exist, one inside the other. The Shackle spell is attached to the emotional body, hence his affection for Lily. Whatever the emotional body experiences, the mental and physical bodies must obey. That was how his scorpions had James and his friends dreaming of their deaths in the Forbidden Forest.

 _You stand now in your light replica body, the blueprint instructions for your human body. It is above the other three and commands them. The bands above James, are the corridors to his fourth-level body. Watch._

On the bed, as James swooned in his gratification, the bands moved wider and faster. Like everything on this side of the veil, the more Severus watched, the more he could feel what he saw. He felt James's ecstasy. He was not lost to it, as James was, but it took his anger down a few notches and made him watch with guarded interest.

James's movements grew more demanding. His shifting pelvis grew to indulgent thrusts. The bands, around and above him, spread out, revealing another opening and another set of energetic spirals. They actually appeared to open onto a landscape of ringed formations.

Severus knew it was just energy, but his mind was forced to make it take a form that he could understand. He saw ringed clouds. Nighttime clouds spiraling upwards. These also opened and expanded to greater spirals. They formed a tunnel-like aperture made of midnight clouds. The source of their illumination was invisible, but lit strongly from inside.

Spirals continued to climb and open onto more. It came to Severus that James's mounting pleasure was acting like an engine propulsion sequence on higher planes. It was just energy. All body-levels were opening up to allow his soul to achieve conscious alignment with his physical body. An orgasm.

Simple as that. Severus had never cared about sex. It was something humans did when they wanted to distract themselves or to have children. Since he didn't want either, it never held any appeal for him. The way it appeared to hold such sway over those enthralled with it, made him certain that he didn't want to lose any power over his life to it. But now that he could see the energetic mechanics behind it, he found it…interesting.

As spirals and levels continued to expand around James, Severus found himself looking up into a funnel of swirling spirals. He knew, from a greater perspective, that it looked exactly like a galaxy of stars. He wondered if spiral galaxies were creations way of reflecting man's soul back at him. The dark clouds that he saw, were an illusion, but they created a stairway of circular levels, to greater portions of James. The fact that every human was made of this hidden majesty, commanded Severus's respect. He was witnessing something mankind was not, in general, privileged to see. Even if James disgusted him, the workings of life and the Universe, did not.

James's moans filled the space around him. The sequence of expansion appeared to reach its peak. Suddenly that apex of ascending levels opened. They moved exactly like the aperture of a camera. Spiral arms parted to let a dark hole open down into it. As Severus watched, a part of him calculated. A part of him attuned to the signals of James's body. His own physical body recorded it all. While he did not commit to feeling what it felt of James, he sensed the information being collected by the nerves of his body. He sensed something momentous was about to happen.

The hole had opened so that something could come through. James's pleasure told him what that something was. Severus waited for it. He adjusted his mind to see the finest form it took. It came into view like white fire. Its entrance eclipsed the aperture and it shot down a tunnel of dimensional membranes towards James's body. Seeing it explode toward the torus flow surrounding James, Severus threw his desire to stop it out, as effectively as lashing out with his arm. He met it, energy to energy, using hands crafted from energetic will. As his arm lifted to snatch the explosion from its journey, the white fire stopped abruptly, clamped by the visible shadow of his will. Severus held it there, vibrating from the force. As he did, something changed in James's manner.

On the bed, James's actions grew frustrated. The energy spirals above him trembled in instability. Severus saw them lose definition, as if collapsing. On the bed, James pushed himself roughly against Severus's body.

Through cellular consciousness, Severus's own body conveyed pain and distress to him.

James's frustration at his interrupted climax, proved amazing to Severus. He lowered his hand, lowering the white fire.

Jamse's energy field leapt at it. He fisted Snape's hair and pulled him closer against him. Straining and sweating, he gritted his teeth to rebuild his pleasure.

Severus saw the layers of spirals attempt to reform themselves. He lifted the fire away, and the spirals collapsed.

The witches laughed. _Now do you see? From this level, your light body influences his lower bodies. You cannot keep his magic from him. But you can make him very unhappy. If you can get that aperture to open and to take in your spell, his soul will obey it on every level. He will even die, if you set those terms, and nothing will prevent its happening._

On the bed, James shouted, "Fuck!" and punched the mattress. "What the fuck!"

Amusement ricocheted throughout Severus's being. So much so, that he didn't mind how bruised his body risked being. He smiled, feeling Jamse's magic spark, unsated, in his hand. The witches used images to tempt him. They showed him awakening beneath James. They showed him lifting his arms in acceptance and giving James the warmth he wanted.

Severus shook his head. "No." He didn't want to feel that.

 _Endure it. That's the only way to send the spell into his depths. Lure him with your body. Make him open. When the aperture is at its peak, his magic will rush down to meet you. What he truly is, will flash into this world for a moment, then it will recede, and your magic will cling to it. It will carry your spell to his core. The spirit is powerful, but it does not judge. That is the mental body's job. At this level, you bypass the mental and physical portions of the Self altogether. Endure his touch._

"I can't."

 _Think of the perfect spell you could write._

He did. His mother had left him tremendous power. He wondered if his spell, combined with the life-force of those unborn hosts, could blast their way up through the ranks of James's soul. They were preserved energy, after all.

 _No. The bodies have too many natural defenses in place. Make him open in lust, and he will give you access to every level. His magic already wants to consume you. Let him take you, so that you can take him._

There was nothing new about that spell. People manipulated each other with it every day.

 _He is going to have his way with you. You can at least demand his death as payment. When you drank from his poisoned cup, you accepted the challenge._

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. While he knew his sleeping body would be at James's mercy, he hadn't been clear on what, exactly, James wanted from him, until two days ago when James climbed on top of him during the night. He knew that the clumsy spell invading his energy field, held instructions for gender reassemblage. But since his mind couldn't fathom any perverse advantage James would have, he chalked it up to one more stupid quest James would go to extreme lengths to achieve. His relationship with his mother, and with the witches, had kept him from the habit of thinking of women in derogatory ways. So he never developed the ability to, so easily, see them as victims.

It made sense to him that James held so little respect for women, he'd think the worst thing he could do to a man, would be to turn him into one. However, the idea of James being fearful of consummating with a male, fit his obtuse profile perfectly.

 _You have two choices. You could use your mother's gifts to destroy the Unbearable spell he has cast on you. Or you can use his curse to cast one of your own. When he uses the spell to reconstruct your body, it will give him the confidence to enter you. Let him. Endure it. Let him grovel in his pathetic desire until his soul opens. Name your price for his gluttony, and your mother's magic will make sure he pays it._

The next question was obvious. "What's in it for you? I feel I am led to this."

 _We live to spell. Your body must survive this. Your parentage was put into place for this. We are put into place. Get rid of James Potter to prepare for another. You will not have the strength to fight both wizards._

"Another? Who?"

 _Get rid of James. We must hide the name of the other._

Severus looked at the white fire of James's energy, held in one hand, and his body beneath James on the bed. If he went back to it, he'd have to suffer James's touch.

 _Endure it. Others have given their lives to make sure you survive it._

Testing the waters, Severus allowed himself to feel what his body felt. Immediately, he lay pinned as James's weight writhed into him. The shock of physical assertion was revolting compared to the lighter, noncommittal existence away from his body. He still didn't have complete control of his motor skills and James was ramming him like he was trying to go through him.

Severus thought to surprise him with wakefulness and to attempt to subdue all his exhaustive effort. But all he managed, through the chemical siege of his nervous system, was opening his eyes and lifting his arm. His hand fell against James's shoulder and something indiscernible escaped his throat.

James was surprised. He stopped. A bead of sweat fell from his forehead and landed on Severus's cheek. The instinct to react in disgust, sent a spike of pain through Severus, lifting his back off the mattress. For James, in his haze of passion, the hand spread on his back, and the body arching into him, was another bread crumb. Another mixed signal.

He knew Snape was in pain, but what if he were trying to meet James halfway? What if the locket, the only thing that made this possible, was also the only thing keeping this from happening? In his frenzy, the locket had slipped out of his shirt and lay against Snape. James watched him get himself under control, or at least succumb to the overdose in his veins. It didn't matter. Either way, the liquid heat of his arousal had returned and he was determined to get off, whether Snape woke up or not. Snape fucking drank the wine. He knows a bird doesn't change its feathers. He fucking knew what James wanted. What they both wanted.

James drove his passion home, feeling it rise again. Strange the way he was on the verge one minute and numb the next. He didn't feel sorry enough for it to be guilt. Whatever it was, he put everything he had into finishing before it happened again.

Severus waited till James's desire had reformed itself into beautiful spirals. He waited for all the layers to open and climb the heights of their energy. He waited for the aperturture to open and to funnel James's life-force through all the layers of his existence, to his body. All those dimensions lined up and pouring through one's core, was the basis of any and all pleasure. No wonder, the act made fools of people and even created life. It was a gateway to one's source. One's magic. And as soon as it reached down to James's third-level, physical body, Severus reached for it and ripped the connection. All spirals broke their formation. Energy dispersed. An anguished scream tore from James and echoed off the walls.

He cursed. How was this possible! It fucking hurt. It felt like muscle spasms at the base of his dick, like everything backed up there. For a second, he wanted to blame Snape.

Look at him. Lying there so still and unfazed, like he didn't just lift his arm, touching and encouraging it. Instead of doing what he wanted to do, hitting Snape, he hit the bed again and pushed himself over on his back. He lay there catching his breath. A peripheral flicker, had him turning his head to find Remus standing in the doorway.

James quickly sat up. "What is it?" He wasn't stupid. He knew that smirk on Remus's face. He knew that Remus had gotten an eyeful and that Snape's pants were still open. It wasn't any secret, his plans for Snape. But Remus looked at him like he knew something James didn't.

"You gave him too much. He's not going to be able to walk out of this castle. Think your way around that. If we don't finish the spell by this time tomorrow, all your criminal activities will be for nothing."

James bared his teeth. "I don't fucking need reminding. Nobody wants him at the inn more than I do."

"Testy. I would think a mastermind like you, would be calmer."

"Remus, I swear to god, come down off your high horse and just admit you're jealous. You want to fuck him just as much as I do, only you don't have the balls to go to the lengths I am."

"Would it kill you to be nice to him? Maybe even attempt to court him?"

"Would it kill you to mind your own fucking business? I don't want to marry him, I want…"

"What do you want? Why go to all this trouble? It's turned into something far different than what we wanted."

"I want to conquer him! This fucking wizard is not what everybody thinks he is. He's really powerful, Remus. If I can beat him at his own game, I think I'll have some of that power. At least he'll know not to come up against me ever again. You gotta prove yourself against wizards like him. If he wanted to, he could really hurt us. We gotta show him that we're not gonna let him get away with the kind of magic he used against us. It's really dark."

"And the Unbearable isn't?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm terrified of letting him have that advantage again. This is only way to beat him so badly, that he's too fucking traumatized to lift a finger against us. How else are we going to protect ourselves? Teachers? We're gonna look awful stupid when we're forty years old, running to find some damn teachers. We're men. We're wizards. We're handling this ourselves."

"I know what you're saying, I just don't want to hurt him. I think he was harmless before this."

"Yeah, well, the damage is done. This time tomorrow night, you can sit out and watch, or you can take your share. If you're all that scared of Snape, you'd better be ready to show him the worst you can do."

Severus waited for a reply from Remus that never came.

The witches inquired, _Do you want to kill him too? You can demand payment from all of them, for what they take from you._

He wasn't sure if he wanted to kill Remus. A weak man was not a bad man. He was almost certain that Remus would not be doing this if James weren't there to nudge the worst in him. The idea of Remus and James arguing over him, did make things interesting.

"I will write a different spell for Remus and the others. One more suitable to their dual natures."

 _Then design James's fate. When they cast the Unbearable, we will use their crossfire to cast yours upon your body. We will write the script upon the very part of you they want. As each man steals the privilege, each man will seal his own fate._

More irony. He could feel the witches gloating at their cleverness. When he wouldn't say it, they did.

 _We have been the virgin sacrifices so many times. Now they will sacrifice themselves to your virginity. We think it's clever._

It was. It frightened him a little. He had not planned on such a level of intimacy. Ever. He thought he was safe from all of that. He knew that's what bound two as incompatible as his parents, and vowed never to succumb to it. But if his life, his peace, his work and his books, lay on the other side of it, he was willing to muster the kind of courage him mother must've had. Did she know? Did she know his body would one day be at the mercy of this wizard? She made sure he had magic.

 _What shall we call this spell?_

Severus thought about it. He thought about the magic that made it possible to defend his life, and what his parents lost so that he could have it. This wasn't his magic. It had been entrusted to him so that he could have a weapon against wizards like James. Dark wizards. The spell was going to allow him to give back. It was going to remove a very bad person from this world. If his body was the price, so be it. He was counting on his stores of magic to right anything left in need of repair once the situation was done. It could restore him.

"Call it, The Debt."

He owed magic. They would pay.


	10. Unbearable

They were pressed for time. Another day was lost to the overdose in Snape's system. James wanted to sneak him, floating-style, through the forgotten passages discovered beneath the castle, but Remus and Sirius assured him that such a journey would be tedious and filled with risk. Parts of the passages were piles of rubble and flooded. Parts had to be crawled through. Even with their wands, they'd nearly given up on coming out on the other sides. It had been worth it, but a limp body complicated matters too much. And they were too impatient.

They had a six-hour window left to cast the spell and Snape was still at the castle. Seeing as how no one had kept up the incantations, they had to trust that the recording was doing it for them. In the end, James sent Peter to hire a service carriage from the village. This meant sneaking Snape out on foot. James had to use compensation spells to extend the hems of his invisibility cloak, to cover himself, Snape and Sirius, as Sirius helped him get Snape from their room to the carriage. The carriage itself, had to be met at the castle entrance, and aroused enough stares to have James working on the lie he would tell if anyone mentioned it. Students never hired carriages or vehicles of any kind. He didn't need the attention, but he had to get Snape to the inn.

Once there, they settled Snape in one small, windowless room with a bed, a writing desk, and a hearth. They used spells to soundproof it and seal the door. The room attached to a shared bathroom. They took the room on the other side of it. It was only slightly larger and overlooked village rooftops below. James had been careful to pay the innkeeper extra, emphasizing his need for privacy. The unshaven gentleman, middle-aged, and unaccustomed to anything but a straightforward transaction, refused at first. James had to think fast. "For your trouble. My friends and I may get a little noisy at our party this evening. My apologies in advance, if we disturb anyone."

He could tell the guy didn't like handouts from, what must've looked like, soft rich kids. James made the best of it, smiled, and thought to himself, 'I don't like you, either.'

The innkeeper took the money and stepped clear of James. "Two rooms. Dinner's for two only, once a day. Served at six prompt."

His scratchy drawl and meager hospitality reminded James that, while he had not rented Hogsmeade's finest, the inn was off the beaten path and suited his purpose just fine. He could deal with an ungrateful innkeeper.

At midday, Hogsmeade's commerce flowed slow and quiet under packed snow and the footsteps of its diminutive population. Storefront facades and shop windows glowed with enough seasonal lights and decorations to give the village inviting warmth. Cobblestones beneath ice, could still be seen from the worn paths of boots and horseless carriages. The minute they had Snape on his bed, they left Peter to watch him while they ran to fetch whisky. In the adjoining room, they settled their nerves. "We're doing this," James tasted the fire in his throat and steeled his nerves.

Their room was nothing to brag about. Minimal furnishings, passable cleanliness. Like most rented rooms, it was a place where loneliness lay dormant in bare corners, waiting until the next visitor fell ill to it. White and green floral décor, with ivy prints, had been charming twenty years ago. Now, with curtains stained by dust, and thinned by repeated washes, every thread and surface stood slick with worn, reuse that each passing stranger made of it. The room was only slightly larger than the other one and managed to contain a bureau and a makeshift closet carved out of the wall as an afterthought. Instead of a hearth, they had an old-fashioned, pot-bellied burner. It sat cold, while the air shooting up through a floor vent, told them the place was adequately heated from a central location. In fact, it was too warm. All the heat in the building had to go up, and their room was the beneficiary of it all.

As soon as they slammed a drink, James had Remus crack a window. His blood was already boiling and the first minute of cold air felt good behind the whisky burn.

Sirius hunkered on the bed, staring down into his cup. Peter took the threadbare chare across from him, while Remus stood at the window. "You said he'd be awake," Remus's eyes watered from his drink. "We have to wake him up."

"What the fuck do you care?"

"It just seems wrong. You're taking his manhood because it's just good sport between great wizards? The least you can do is make sure he sees it coming. It's like shooting a man in the back. Where's the sport if he doesn't stand a chance?"

"I cannot bloody believe this. Snape saw this coming, mate. He wants to be out cold. You gotta think like a wizard, not some helpless muggle. That's why he downed the drug. He didn't have to be forced into anything."

Remus held up his locket. "I can't help but think these little trinkets have something to do with that."

"Remus. Shut-up now. Or leave. I need you here, but not if you're going to fuck with my confidence right now."

Remus left the window. "I'm waking him up. Just to make sure he isn't brain damaged from all the poison you've given him."

Sirius spoke up, "We are here to make sure you don't kill him, right?"

James smiled. "That's up to you. After we cast the spell, I get first dibs." He pulled his wand from his jacket pocket. "Let's go."

In the room where Snape laid, a recording of their voices wafted into the silence. It had been playing on a loop for three days. The equipment sat against the wall, along with several bags and a suitcase of Severus's clothes. James hoped the room was drenched in their spell. Unlit candles stood braced in strategic pattern around the room. The correct ingredients burned, sending twists of a bitter-sweet fragrance into the air. Three lamps lit the room, holding darkness at bay. The space was evidently meant to be a room for storage, but had been converted to extra lodging to make more money.

Snape lay in the same position they had left him. When Remus bent down to shake him, James stopped him. "No, don't. We need to tie him." He used his wand to draw out four strips of cloth from the sack he'd prepared.

"Tie him? For what, he's under your spell?"

"Just a precaution under the curse. He might thrash about first. The book says to bind him."

Peter was impressed. "You really did read it, then."

Peter and Sirius set about restraining Snape while Remus glared at James. The bed had no posts, so the knots had to be anchored to the frame beneath. When Snape was spread-eagle, fully clothed, and eyes still closed, James ordered them to each take a corner position and to read the incantation out loud along with him. The walls had been fixed to make sure no sound escaped, in spite of what James told the innkeeper. He couldn't be sure of how well it worked, he knew he couldn't hear the recording outside of them. The bribe was a last measure to get the old man to mind his own business if he did hear anything.

They were to chant from the pages until the candles lit themselves. That was the first sign that all the other stages of the spell were sufficient. It meant enough energy was amassed to affect the physical world. After that, they had to chant only the last sentence twenty-three times. This unlocked the code to the genome. All twenty-three pairs of chromosomes would open, allowing the spell to reorganize them from the inside.

By the last page of the spell, the lamps put themselves out, and the candles took over. Excitement squeezed James in his guts, to know his spell was working. Magic like this did not work without the Universe's blessing. As wrong as this seemed, as frightening even, it told him he was right on track. He was breaking the boundaries of fear. You don't get to have this kind of magic without breaking a few rules, without making enemies. If that was the cost of power, then so be it. As the glow of the candles increased, he wished a little of the magic deep into his heart, to give him strength. He was about to dominate a titan, no matter what it looked like. He was about to graduate to the higher ranks of magic, and he was not going to back down, no matter how intimidating the entrance looked. Lesser wizards turned away. He would not.

At first, the voices of his friends wavered at the sight of the lit flames. They lost their nerve. But his forge ahead brought them back to their focus. As their voices rose, Snape's body tried to move. Its inability to do so, had him opening his eyes and looking at his circumstance. Each Gryffindor held a wand over him, facing from each corner of the earth. Behind each of them, stood a witch in her collected body and shimmering veil. Each witch stretched out her arm, extending it into the body and arm of the young men holding their wands. Energy surged into the room from greater dimensions. It filled the air, condensing into a white haze that each boy wasn't sure was real or not. Snape knew that it was real. He braced himself as the four winds of the world swept into his body.

When cellular bonds are broken in the body, it is pain. When they're broken in the brain, it is bliss. This is the cell dying and releasing the spirit. This little death is the love affair of the drug addict. For a whole minute, Severus felt nothing. His brain could not make sense of the disconnection and so did not classify it as pain or other. His mind adjourned. His last conscious thought was to question if he'd been right to trust the witches. While the various spells competed to fulfill themselves through his body, he left the world of thought all together. When his body was ready for him again, it gave him its decision. Pain.

It literally felt like pieces of him were being removed and remodeled, as if skin could be pinched off as effortlessly as clay, starting with blood cells that burst from the inside out. Even though he could not see what was taking place, the feeling caused his mind to leap with visuals of the worst possible scenarios. He saw mutations. He saw blood beading into rivulets over his skin and pooling into the capillaries of red meet. He felt the elasticity of his tissue break as pieces twisted forcefully into new shapes. Everything below his waste shifted. Familiar weight disappeared, and was replaced with burning intrusion. His nerve endings were intimately involved in reattachments and new circuitry. They screamed, gushing out biochemical electricity from broken connections. Magic raced up and down his vertebrae, pooled between his legs, and saturated the bed beneath him. In blind pain, his body felt as though it slid in his own blood and contorted helplessness.

Those watching saw that this was not the case. An arch of light drenched Snape's body in blinding illumination. Each assisted wand, pulled in more information than Snape's body could translate all at once. Pressure, psychic and physical, are what produced unsettling images and associations. Pressure caused him to pull from his restraints. It caused his clothes to degrade at the seems. His body twisted, dislocating at his shoulder. The pain made him forget what was happening below. His scream startled the others so that their wands shook.

"Keep going!" James reminded them not to break the connection.

Somehow, the scream helped Severus to find a place for his torment. What magic his body could not absorb, left through the screams.

James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, saw Snape's exposed skin. Disintegrated cloth revealed his chest and stomach, arms and legs. His skin took on the glow of embers. They saw it release wave after wave of red-glow fallout before cuts began to welt upon it. The cuts formed script, then beaded into blood before glistening like fire and vanishing from his skin. They left feverish red splotches.

No one dared lower their wands till the illumination died down. The arch of light disappeared, and Snape groaned on the bed. They couldn't know that his magic was working from the inside, to repair his shoulder. His arms and legs were now free from restraints, but he was no closer to leaving the bed than before. Sobs rolled from him, garbled by incoherent words.

The four approached and bent over him cautiously. They all felt the heat coming off of Snape's skin.

Sirius looked at James. "Well, go ahead. Check."

Bracing himself, James reached for the fastening at Snape's pants. He saw the seems were open and he had only to move the fabric to one side. Nothing other than Snape's skin, and his screams, had indicated any change. As soon as the tips of James's fingers grazed the cloth, Snape rose up and struck his hand away.

"No!" It was a growl and made all of them step back, pointing their wands.

"Hold it," James insisted. He waited for Snape's panicked eyes to search the room, take in everyone, and return to him.

"Don't try anything, Snape. There's too many of us and you don't have a wand."

Snape's dark eyes held a film of water. Comprehension blinked in them, and something that looked like disgust trembled at his mouth. He held his shoulder.

"See? It's not that bad. You knew what the deal was, didn't you? I won this one. Maybe you'll get the next one."

Before James's smile could finish spreading across his face, Snape's hand shot out and took his wand. His wordless spell sent James spinning on his back, hitting the floor. The others were slow to react through stunned silence. Sirius couldn't command a spell fast enough and simply dove on Snape to wrest the wand away from him. When seconds went by, and he was still struggling to get the wand, Remus had to decide between using a spell that could get them both, or jumping in. He jumped in.

Peter watched his friends wrestle the wand away from Snape. They did it, but with more force than any of them thought was going to be necessary. Snape held so tightly to the wand, Sirius used magic to break a few of the bones in the back of his hand, before he would let go. By the time James roused himself and got up from the floor, all of them knew something was wrong. Snape was supposed to be weaker, not stronger. Certainly not strong enough to take James's wand right out of his hands.

James stood, mouth bleeding, looking at Snape. "What the hell did you do?"

Snape had pushed himself against the wall, holding his injured hand. Tears escaped his eyes. "Fuck you!"

Alarm sounded in all of them. Was the Fire Shackle still working? They looked at one another. This wasn't Snape. Unless… Unless, James thought, the spell really worked and Snape knew he was at their mercy. He knew what he was going to get. But the way Snape's skin trembled, making what was left of his clothes shake and even the bed tremble, caused James to think hard. He climbed on the bed and sat on his knees, inches from Snape. He counted the veins visible on Snape's forehead and noted the wet edges of his hairline. Snape, he concluded, was in a lot of pain, and it was more than his hand.

James tested, "You do know what I'm going to do to you. Right?"

Snape gritted his teeth. Violence rose up in his pupils and screamed what it would do, back. He choked on sobs that revealed his wish for James's death. He lost his breath from the pain, but he never lost consciousness.

"What the bloody hell?" Sirius backed from the bed. "What good's the fire spell if he's just going to fight through it?"

Remus grimaced. "Did we actually make him stronger? Why is he fighting so much now, and not before?"

Peter was already at the door. "Because it's messed with his head. I told you, it's a complicated spell. It's driven him mad."

"But did it work?" That was all James wanted to know. "He's no longer attacking. He has limits." James tested this by placing a hand on Snape's bare thigh. Snape immediately punched it off of him, but cried out as his body twisted away from James in shudders that stabbed everyone who heard him.

Fascinated, James leaned over him. "Holy shit, he's really hurting."

Remus's wand shook. "All that proves is that he's willing to kill you no matter how much pain you cause him. Don't take it as a sign that he's helpless."

"Then how come I'm not dead?"

"I'm beginning to think you're too thick to know when to die, James. We've obviously broken something in Snape's brain. I say we accept our losses, close shop, and leave him the fuck alone."

Snape had turned his head away from James. His hair trembled, but hid his face from view. James leaned closer. "I say we see what's what."

He had his hand inside what was left of Snape's pants, and tore the rest away. Snape shoved him, bearing down on such tremendous suppression of pain, he fell over after doing so. James climbed on top of him and began tearing at the rest of his clothes. "I just want to see."

His strained urgency took all the blows Snape aimed at him. He struck back in a skirmish that exposed the rest of Snape's skin to all of them. They could've sent spells to defend James, but no one could determine what the sight called for. When Snape lay twisted and panting in sheets, pulled out to cover himself, James ignored his distress and mercilessly slipped the corner from his broken grasp.

Naked skin could not hide itself. And any attempt by Snape, had James removing his arm to let them see. He actually held Snape's hands away from his body. "Take a good fucking look."

No one spoke. No one could. If this was supposed to be the funniest prank they'd ever pulled, why wasn't anyone laughing?

There was nothing to laugh about. What they saw, the tawny paleness of Snape's torso and stomach, narrowed to skin shadowed by dark hair between his thighs. The visual journey, from an angular flat chest, over adolescent musculature, over a fleshscape of smooth nudity, to unspeakable darkness hiding a hint of pink and tender skin. They didn't know what nightmare they half-expected to have to contend with, but what they saw, silenced all criticism. He still looked like himself above the waste. Even his legs retained their masculine sinews. But in the middle, where it mattered, the spell had worked.

Not only was it real and female, it was beautiful. Mysterious. Forget that it trembled as Snape's humiliation caused him to tremble. Forget that it came to them a little too perfect, for how could a woman's intimate parts know to frame themselves in just the right amount of down and shape its raw hairs so poisonously appealing in that wedge of pointed space?

It presented the illusion of womanhood in its uncompromised fullness. Unapologetic. Forget that expertly folded skin was the exact quality and make found on every being termed a female. Smooth and wrinkled machinations were to James and his friends, like strobe lights to a child. They couldn't look away. Each one saw what they wanted to see. Textures and shadows begged them to touch.

James didn't care that Snape's humiliated anger, shook against him. His hand inched closer to the darkness between Snape's thighs. One finger, poised to enter where all the hairs pointed, was twisted by Remus. "Cover him."

"What the fuck?"

Remus grabbed the sheet. "This is too serious. You have no idea what we've done. He's not Snape anymore. There's no point in doing this if he's just going to be a real woman."

James knocked him out of the way. "I didn't come this far to fucking give up." He seized Snape by his thighs and held them open. Snape struck him hard enough to throw him back, but froze in agonized spasms that left his hands spread and rigid out beside him. James used his weight to hold him and his hand to take a thorough look. "You either calm down, Snape, or you won't survive this. Why the fuck are you so uppity now?"

"Because now it's real," Remus hissed. "You have no idea what he must be going through. Let him go right now, or I'll hex you, myself."

This sobered James. He used his fingers to rub Snape gently, watching all kinds of intolerance extrude from Snape's expression. He knew what he had to do. "All that I ask, is that you guys wait for me. Give me an hour. I promise I won't hurt him, too badly. You'll get your turn. And Remus, if you still want to save his honor after that, you can run screaming to the Headmaster all you want. By then it won't matter."

He wanted what he wanted. There didn't seem to be an 'after that' relevant enough to cause him to worry. Somehow, what he wanted held the solution to whatever came after that.

None of them saw his swing until it connected with Remus's jaw. James swiped his wand in the middle of his fall. He grabbed Remus from the floor. The taller boy lashed out, but his punch was off balance and lost the impact a sturdier swing would've had. James shoved him into the open-mouthed stares of Sirius and Peter. "Get him out of here before I do something worse. He's not going to stop me. None of you are. You don't understand. I have to do this fast, the first time. He'll go into shock. That determines everything else after."

Emphasizing his point, he shoved at his friends until all three of them crammed into the bathroom entrance. "Sirius, give me a fucking hour. I have to do this!" He appealed to his second-in-command.

Pissed, Sirius stared across the threshold. At what point did James start studying mind control? His technique sounded straight out of the pages of some POW interrogation manual.

He held James's glare even after the door slammed between them. Remus and Peter scrambled behind him to get past. Sirius allowed James to spell the door closed against them. But he was the one to spell it see-through, just to be ready if James was underestimating Snape's strength.

From the bathroom, they watched James's approach, and Snape's recoil.


	11. Epic

Dear Reader, I think this chapter is far stronger than this website allows. If you want to read this chapter, you can find it at archive of our own dot org. Apologies.

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It had to be fast. It had to be harsh. That was the ritual. That was the spell. After that, he could show Snape the softer side of it. He could show that he wasn't a monster. But first, he had to act like one. If Snape wouldn't drop his defenses, then James had to tear past them. On the bed, Snape pressed his back against wall. His bare skin revealed tension winding his muscles tight. His face held shadows, like a black panther ready to spring. He sweated threat, and James marveled that his friends thought this was a helpless man. It wasn't, but it was the closest he was going to get with Snape. The moment called for determination, not pity.

James approached cautiously. He knew that Snape still had fight in him. That made his limited supply all the more dangerous. He hadn't counted on Snape being strong and resistant, when less than thirty minutes ago, he couldn't be roused from a drugged stupor. He made sure Snape didn't forget who was holding the wand.

"Easy. I've got the wand, Snape. You may not mind pain, but you'll mind being petrified with your mouth open while I do anything I want."

Snape's beautiful mouth turned down as his eyes spat hatred. He looked like he wanted to speak, but couldn't produce words. James ignored the tears. They did not match the intent to harm behind Snape's eyes.

"I don't mind the fight." James started to unfasten is pants. "I'd rather fight you than fuck a corpse. Besides, you'll do more damage to yourself than you will to me. It'll only make things more interesting."

He stepped out of his shoes. "You and I both know why I have to do this. For six years, you acted like you couldn't see me unless I did something to get your attention. You stepped over me like I was shite in the street. You laughed when I tried to be your friend. You were too good to kiss me. Then you went and sliced my fucking guts out. Man, I'm telling you. You really know how to make a guy chase you. And what I'm wondering now is, is it going to be worth it? 'Cause you know what, Snape? I'm so ready for a fight. I don't want to hide anymore."


	12. Velvet Willow

He couldn't do this. He thought he could, but that was before…

He stood at the missing wall. He knew it was only an illusion, but he let it have its reality. He let hills roll upwards into forest, into mist, into clouds. He knew full well that the truer alternative was grimy village streets, packed with dirt-black snow, and an entire population preoccupied with money, being good enough, and what someone else thinks, laying on the other side of it. He wasn't missing anything. Only his fucking life. And for what? The waste material walking upright and calling itself James Potter?

He let morning haze pour into the room. There was even an eagle, soaring on a loop, charmed to fade in and out of the vapor before disappearing long enough to have one looking for him, then starting his journey from one end of the sky to the other all over again. He envied that eagle. Did it even know it was caught in a spell? Would that make any difference? For all he knew, he was a strange entity caught in someone's spell. His desire to escape, no more than a program, for whomever watching him on the other side of their wall. It made people feel better, to deny realness to other levels. That way, they didn't go trying to rescue eagles or mistreated students. That way, everyone minds their own business, gets on with their own lives, and fear is for entertainment purposes only. He wished.

The truth was, fear was a real level. It had its own validity, every bit as powerful as all the other stuff. The monsters touched you, possessed you, ripped you apart. You screamed yourself to death. No heroes came. You became the child at the bottom of the well. No firefighter came, with his ladder or rope. No one came. You died there. You felt every night and day of the cold and hunger, the insects, and your own waste. You died there. No one saved you. So why the hell not look at the bird and beauty and try to save your fucking sanity, if you couldn't save anything else?

The hours had given him time to think. That was the worst thing he could do, when his plans only called for spells and patience. James was supposed to have used pain and cruelty, and nothing else. Those were the tactics that Severus had trained with, prepared with. He was willing to use them like ingredients in a labor-intensive potion. He had stirred them into his spells the way seasoning is layered into a stew, allowed to dissolve, then another layer added at just the right time. He had sifted his magic into his defense system, not realizing that if James chose anything other than an outright attack, his magic would simply rise up to meet him and become a bridge for him to cross into Severus himself. Stupid sex. _Stupid!_

He knew his housemates made fun of his lack of interest in sex. They accused him of snubbing his nose at it, as if it were some lesser deed of lesser men. It was. Nothing could compare with the heights that the intellect could soar to, taking emotions with it. The two achieved bliss for days, months, and years. Enough to whether through all the dark times of life, like a pantry well-stocked against a barren winter.

Books were programmed spells for going further than one's limitations. They tossed him over the crests of ecstasy, far more enduringly that a few seconds worth of mindless spasms. They left no hungry mouths to feed, they left no one overburdened or unloved. They offered such promise, so amendable to learning and enticement that he knew he could brew a potion as intently as crafting a volume of study. The things he could teach people, if only they valued themselves enough to learn. Instead they acted like, 'Oh, we're here on this planet for only a short while? Let's hump like rabbits and make as many babies that we can't feed, can't love, and push them into paycheck slavery, as possible.' Not, 'Oh, lets learn all the things we can do! Let's see if we can turn a thought into a brew that anyone can systematically make and experience. Instead of alcohol, my friends and I can get intoxicated on all the fun we had last summer, or repeat the best sunrise we've ever felt, or let the blind have a sip of sight, or paraplegics, the ability to climb Mount Everest. Or love the girl who does not love me back. One could dine with her every evening, and no one's feelings got hurt when the bottle was empty. What if a drink could provide long-term retention of any subject one wanted to learn? Then potions would be books.

But, well, if that's what it felt like to make babies, he supposed men and women could be forgiven for it. Whatever force created the body's intricate sexual mechanisms, was truly merciless and possibly evil. It practically left mankind with no choice. Thank God, capital G, he couldn't have Lily Evans. Thank God no other girl interested him. There would be children and he couldn't have that. He couldn't do to another, what life had done to him. That didn't mean that he didn't wish better for Lily. She deserved better than Potter.

Severus's body had been prepared for war, not whatever James had done to him. Whatever he'd done, it was worse than pain. His body knew what to do with pain. Kick it out, that's what you do with it. But what James had done to him, in the end, was horribly the best thing Severus had ever felt. And for that, he wanted to cut James's face off. How the hell did making something feel that good, prove to be a superior weapon? It didn't even feel good, it tricked the body into peak gratification, which, coincidentally, feels like hell when you don't want it.

All that embarrassing emotion. All that undignified slobbering and fluids! It was disgusting enough when one was by one's self, let alone having it ripped out of him by another man. The worst part was having no control over how much intensity his body could feel. It was like being at the mercy of a vehicle without breaks. It was the worst helplessness, and it opened to James, letting him take as much as he wanted. He'd felt like a shell by the time James finished with him. He couldn't go through with it again. Not from the other three.

In his mind, he was sure that he must've looked like a naked epileptic having an attack. He could not know that the boys hungered to see pleasure have its way with him again.

He needed a new weapon, and the witches weren't talking. They weren't fucking talking. After all that goading, they were eerily silent. Or maybe, he was too angry to hear them. He fucking hated them right now.

He thought he could do it. He thought he could let them all poison themselves with his body, and walk out stepping over their corpses. Two days after James, and Severus was wishing he'd made a different spell. One that had turned his body into something that repulsed them, as repugnant to them visually, as it was to them effectively. He should've turned slime green with the capability to dissolve their greedy hands like acid. Try to touch him, and those grubby fingers would sink into his gelatinous skin and stay there. They'd pull back nubs.

Just to horrify them more, Severus would expel their thumbs and digits the way his father spat out tiny chicken bones at the diner table. Tobias would shove half a piece into his mouth, bite the bone through, then systematically extract the meat from it while letting the bones spill through his still chewing lips. It was so disgusting that, at eleven, Severus either had to make peace with it and study the skill of it, or let it drive him to murder.

He guessed it was early morning. He told himself it was. The illusion of an outdoor view he'd been given, tricked his brain into anticipating a fresh start, no matter how much his body, and deeper portions of himself, protested. The false daylight kept his mind circling his situation. He knew he wasn't supposed to feel safe, so he didn't worry about feeling safe. The last thing he wanted to do was get comfortable. But he couldn't suffer the idiots like he thought he could. He couldn't let them touch him again. Not without greater protection. James's touch had gone too deep. He'd known he was in for cruelty. Cruelty was fine, he'd counted on it. He could get back up from cruelty.

Exactly how much does a spoiled-rich, seventeen year-old like James, know about cruelty anyway? Cruelty was finding your mother strangled, not having your wand taken away. Cruelty was never feeling capable of withstanding a visit to the muggle prison where your father's health grew worse every year. Cruelty was being handed the medical letter from Dumbledore, three weeks ago, officially letting you know that your father had passed away. Some disease hibernating in the prison's rotting foundation, produced enough airborne toxicity, to render all inmates on those levels, dead or dying. The disease caused rapid bone and lung deterioration that had left Tobias bedridden for the last six months. Now, not only could you never rage the way you wanted to rage at him, you can't even have the satisfaction of squeezing the life out of his neck the same way he did your mother's. He'd wasted in a cold, filthy prison cell. He'd paid with his life. He'd paid as much as he possibly could and it still wasn't enough.

Cruelty was receiving his ashes in a sealed generic urn right before Yule break, because muggle law required cremation for the victims of such diseases.

The letter also stated that a civil suit had long been underway by the families of over four hundred victims, and was recently settled to include benefactor recompense for every inmate affected. His father's death came on the heels of the condemned prison's closing. Severus would be receiving a settlement from his father's wrongful death. Not enough to make him wealthy, but enough to give him time to think about how best to use it after school.

Muggles were strange.

He considered his ideas for potions and realized he'd been thinking about it all wrong. By damn, he didn't have to sit here waiting. But he wasn't exactly eager to put himself in their hands again. He understood that he had the power to drive this thing forward and to leave as soon as he was done with them. But that meant hurting himself in away he hadn't even known was possible. He'd shown these assholes more than anyone had a right to see. He'd shown them things that even he did not want to see. He couldn't do that again. Having to feel everything James did to him, to the fullest degree it could be felt, making him lose control over his body like that. Something had to be done.

He heard the knock on the door and it opened without his consent for the third time that morning. They kept sending Remus in to check on him. This time, James and Remus entered together.

Severus felt them enter the room and kept his back to them. His back heated by half a degree the nearer they approached. The spot of heat moved behind him, tracking their presence as they spread apart. Before they could offer any fake concern for his mental health, he told them, "I need a cauldron. I need another day of recovery, and a cauldron. I want out of here. I will give you and your friends what you want, but I can't do it like this."

He practically heard them looking at each other.

Potter laughed. "That's out of the question. You'd spell the dye right out of the curtains, mix it with candle wax and have us gassed before sunrise. Why so obvious, Snape?"

He turned to them. "I want to get this over with. You win, James. My body hurts like hell. I know it's only a matter of time before your friends will be wanting their turn. Probably still getting their courage up. I don't intend to stay in here a second longer than I have to."

"By all means, leave then. That, I'd like to see." James feigned surprise. Or at least, that's what Severus thought he was doing with his face. Beneath Peter's amateur medical and deflection spells, James's face was still badly swollen and more than a little disfigured. No doubt he'd seek better magic before the start of school.

"And you will. But I'm making you an offer. Give me a cauldron. I already have most of the ingredients in this room. Get me a few more, give me a day, and I will let your friends do whatever they want. I intend to brew Velvet Willow, to get me through it. You got the humiliation out of me that you wanted, and witnesses galore to boot. I am asking for the means to suffer no more. You still get what you want and I get to leave after. I will go back to the school and I won't say a word."

James guffawed so hard, his glasses slipped. Remus folded his arms quietly.

"If you can make a drug like that, we're all going to want in on it. That's what you're hoping. That's how you poison us. Not falling for it."

"I have made small, legal-grade batches to assist the veterinary demand in my town. It is the kindest way for muggles to put animals to sleep." He almost explained to them that this was another scandalous service his mother sometime provided their neighbors with, but knew they couldn't appreciate it. It had been a great source of pride when the local chemist paid his mother a visit, leaving with pies and bottles wrapped in cloths beneath. Controlled substances required answering a lot of questions. Meanwhile, deer kept leaping in front of cars, field mowers kept blading over fawns, and house pets wasted like humans when their owners were too poor to get their surgeries or treatments. In humans, in lower doses, the drug was an opiate and behaved like one. It would not protect Severus's body, but it would protect his mind. It would render their touch meaningless. As it was, James's touch should not have meant anything at all.

"I will be the only one to take it. It will make me willing." It wouldn't. But that wouldn't look any different to them.

"Maybe I like you unwilling." James smiled.

It looked painful, but Severus was sure Peter had fixed him up with painkilling help as well. He had a feeling James's bloodstream was already playing host to a few illegal substances while his face reattached itself to its skull. Now Severus noted the slightly slurred words and jelly-looseness in the pivot of his head. A sniff in James's direction, hinted of menthol. A cigarette painkiller was working in conjunction with the spells. On top of that, alcohol.

"You are in no condition to negotiate. I will talk to Remus alone."

"Wow, to be locked up in this room, you're awfully bossy."

Remus came forward. "Let's not be hasty. He's got a point, James. You've both seriously injured each other. If Severus can bring this to an end, if he's willing, that's far better than anything we've come up with."

"Severus? You're calling him, Severus now? You really do want a turn. I want to hear you fucking admit it."

"Just let's see if we can negotiate our way out of this. That's far more important right now."

James shoved Remus. "Then let him negotiate with Sirius. Sirius!" He shouted for the absent boy.

Severus's nostrils flared. "He does not have the ability. I will work out the agreement with Remus and no other. If he comes in here, the deal is off."

Sirius made it as far as one foot across the bathroom threshold. "You called?"

"Go back," James and Remus said in unison.

His mouth hung open. "What, I heard my name."

"Piss off." James glared at Snape while speaking to Sirius.

"Yeah, well I am pissing off. I got better things to do than sit around here waiting on her majesty, there." He nodded towards Snape. "We didn't go through all this shite to bloody serve him breakfast in bed. S'ofly funny how James shags him hard enough to wake the dead, but we can't go near him afterwards. Wasted a whole bloody day. All I got to say is, you blokes have your fun, because when I get back, I intend to have mine." He winked at Snape. "Just you and me, princess. If you thought getting a fucking bird to rip my eyes out, was funny, wait till you see the trick I'm going to show you."

He licked his lips with a grin and left.

James, Remus, and Severus waited for someone else to make a move. In the stalemate, James sneered. "These fucking painkillers! I can't fuck with you right now. Talk to Remus, then. But it's not a deal until I say it's a deal."

He swayed, turning, and bumped into Peter on his way to the other room. "Come on," he grabbed Peter by the shirt.

Alone with Remus, who looked at him like a penniless orphan eyeballing a seven-layer hot fudge cake, he forced himself to ignore his disgust. Remus was no negotiator either. If he didn't take control of the situation, he be up to his ears in Gryffindor tears of chastising remorse and self-pity. Severus hardly could stomach his own, let alone the enemy's.

He tried to soften his voice. He had no experience in these matters. For what it was worth, he was going to shut Remus up and get him gone. If he had to stoop to romantic language, it couldn't possibly be any worse than what he'd put himself through. He looked into Remus's eager eyes, and began in the most earnest way he knew how.

"Listen carefully. I will need you to use your wand on my behalf. Bring me six flint rocks, two dried bulrushes, four apricot pits, eight milliliters of rubbing alcohol, and a pint of turpentine. And a cauldron. You'll find the bulrush in Madame Basquiat's drift and flower shop. If you can't find apricots, plums will do. Have them back in the hour. I will need exactly two hours to brew a weak form of Velvet Willow. Do this for me, and I will…"

It hurt to say it. "I will let you make love to me."

He nearly puked from the sound of his own voice forming those words. It wasn't that he was insincere. That was the problem. He wasn't. He fully intended to let Remus have what he wanted, for a price. He wasn't going to suffer Sirius Black's touch without reinforcement.

Remus looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He tightened his mouth to restrain his emotion, and Severus realized he was doing both.

"I will be under the influence of this drug. You must promise me that you won't let Sirius hurt me. He wants revenge. He'll get his revenge, but don't let him injure my body. I'll be awake, but I won't care. I need you to protect me from him. And James. I don't want James to touch me anymore. He's had his fun. Will you protect me?"

Remus nodded, even before Severus took a seat on the bed. "Then come here and let me show you how you will be rewarded if you keep him from hurting me."

Remus moved like a zombie. His long limbs jerked forward in anticipation, but slowed in apology, as if knowing his excitement was inappropriate, but not knowing how to stop it. He sat where Snape motioned. "You know, I'm just glad there's something I can do to-"

"Shut-up. Don't talk." It was taking all of Snape's focus to stay seated across from Remus. There was not a soft, romantic thought in hell, that could make him tolerate it a second longer. He leaned forward and kissed Remus. He couldn't tell what passed for a decent kiss or not. Since he couldn't imagine that one would've been like anything James had done to him, he went gentle and kept his lips closed but soft against Remus. Remus was the one who asked for more by parting Snape's slips with his darting tongue.

Snape tensed, but endured it for three seconds before tearing off from it. "Go. We haven't much time."

Remus stumbled to the door like a fool, never taking his eyes off of Snape. He smiled as if everything were suddenly okay. There was something wistful in the way he looked over his shoulder as he left through the bathroom. "Won't take me long, I promise." He might've added, 'now that we're best chums again.'

End of negotiations.

Severus reminded himself that Remus was under a spell. All of them were. He waited on his return the way a prisoner waits on his execution. Only, he fully intended to survive it. James must've been in a lot of pain, to let him and Remus slip past his watch dog, Sirius, that way. That was hardly a confrontation at all, and was perhaps, an indication that he would not be joining them.

When Remus returned, he behaved like Severus's pet, arranging the stones and using his wand to cull flames from their natural, magnetic alternating currents. The entire process was done over a dinner plate, insulated to keep cool while Snape scraped plum seed fibers into it. When turpentine was unavailable, Snape had scraped veneer from the underside of the desk, and melted flakes of dried gloss down to something closer to their original components. Remus studied his actions gleefully, like a girl at her first sleepover. After a considerable amount of time, what Severus reluctantly called Velvet Willow, appeared in beaded condensate form, trapped in an upturned mug over the cauldron.

It was amusing, something about brewing this close to Snape, still feeling that incredible kiss on his lips and knowing more was coming. And best of all, Snape wanted it too. James hadn't been crazy after all. Cornered like an animal, Snape was willing to use his body as a peace offering. Remus could live with that. Wasn't that really what was happening after all?

He giggled when Snape ran his finger along the inside of the mug and tasted. It was fascinating to watch his eyes dilate. He knew people didn't really have black irises, no matter how dark a bloke's eyes looked. But Snape's looked positively humongous and glowed with black, if that were even possible. Snape traced his index finger again, but this time, held it to Remus's lips. Holding Snape's stare, Remus opened his mouth and accepted. He'd always wanted to touch Snape's hands. They were wide, perfectly smooth, and moved around his potions in class with more masculine elegance than any grace found on a teenage witch. James had been right. Snape's confidence with potions made him stand out among his peers, like a witch attempting to hide her dominance behind demur silence, lest she arouse suspicion. Lest she burn again. Fearful people were stupid people.

He sucked as deeply as he could on that finger. He drew it between his cheeks in a way that would let Snape know exactly what he was willing to do. This, and far more. The way Snape's mouth parted, Remus knew he could feel the padding of his tongue in other places on his body. As he played with Snape's finger, he saw him learning, recording, adjusting, and discovering. In this way, as Remus surprised him with pleasure, the evening lost all structure, all aim, all focus. Velvet Willow hung, an invisible vapor in the room, and dismantled all critical thinking.

By the time James and Sirius checked in on Snape, Remus was making love to him. That's what it looked like to them, and to Peter who trailed in last. The two were not on the bed, but right beside the cauldron. They never made it to the bed. Drug-lust rushed them to their inevitable end. While watching, fumes in the air finished what the sight of the two, had started. James held Sirius back, who shook to get his chance. James would've been angry at Remus, for being so gullible and eager, but most of all, for not consulting him and letting him know they were done brewing. But this was a different angle, a different perspective. And this time, he wasn't the one doing all the hard work. He noted what Remus did to get those moans and faces out of Snape. Somehow, Remus had not resorted to magic, and yet Snape endured him as if he were under a spell. So that was Velvet Willow?

It entered his sinuses as gently as oxygen. It glossed everything he saw with a sheen of perfection and ordered the muscles controlling his breathing to relax. Super relax. When that happened, his veins filled with a liquid stream of pleasure. There was something so natural and right about having his friends here, and having Snape admit, through his actions, that he was wrong.

James could no longer feel the pain that had, five minutes ago, engulfed his head and made him one ornery bastard. He could not bring himself to participate. Maybe he was tired from the day before, or maybe his body needed the energy to accelerate his healing. Either way, Peter's healing spells required fuel his body no longer had. He let himself drop to the floor and feast with his eyes. At what point, Sirius and Peter saw fit to sneak into the mix, he wasn't sure. At one point, he grew confused at to why they needed rope, or why they helped Snape to his feet. Remus and Sirius continually changed positions. When Peter was asked to hold Snape's arms behind him, while Remus kissed his mouth scarlet before sliding a strip of cloth between his teeth and tying it back, Sirius got down on his knees. His head buried itself between Snape's thighs. Remus and Peter struggled to keep Snape in a standing position and to hold his legs apart. Then James understood the reason for the cloth. As Snape bit down on it, brow furrowed and tears flowing, James understood that Sirius was just starting his revenge.

Severus looked out at the mist and eagle. If he had to be a prisoner, he hadn't done too badly for himself. Not like his father, the son-of-a-bitch. School started yesterday. No one went. No one cared. That was a small side effect of Velvet Willow. Almost instant addiction and death in two years, for those who could not outrun its whip. The entire week went missing. Well, not missing, but misplaced, on purpose. He could not keep those boys off of him and he could not go without the drug himself for the first few days. It made everything painless. Even memories that escaped their cages and ran racing across the screen in his mind, were rendered harmless for a time. He knew what Sirius had done to him. What Peter had done, and what Remus had done. But none of them knew what he had done to them.

Satisfaction lasted seconds before he had to close his mind against a touch or a shudder. He didn't need to compare them. He didn't need to figure out who was more disgusting. After a week of the drug, he was equally disgusted with all of them, including himself. It especially bothered him to miss school. He didn't feel it emotionally, but it pulled at him indignantly. He already knew what he would tell Dumbledore. He'd already composed the letter in his mind. He had his father's ashes and he wanted to take them home. He hadn't made it back to his classes because he needed more time.

He did need time. Time to rid himself of addiction, and time to rid himself of the shame of all those acts. Surely, they hadn't engaged every single day. He remembered sleeping it off mostly, then aching and having to brew more for all of them. Then sleeping again. The drug got him through it. It couldn't dissolve the worst of Black's revenge, but he survived it. Sirius Black. Just when he steeled himself to let Sirius touch him, Sirius held him at the desk and entered him from behind. Not like James, not the female version. Sirius wanted the worst way, as if the thrill of making Snape bleed, was somehow analogous to taking his virginity a second time. He'd wanted to do everything James had done. Without James's magic to turn every sensation to it highest variable, Sirius's teeth and his slobbering mouth had been more cruel than James's most violent thrusts.

Mercifully, from what he remembered of Peter's fumbling, it indicated that he didn't know how to be cruel. Just needy. Just desperate to touch and be touched.

He wasn't sure when that had taken place, or who was in the room when it happened. They weren't always all in the room. Severus remembered having a whole blessed day to himself at least once. They all slept it off. The desire for sleep eclipsed the desire for anything else, even food. A week later, he was waking from the trance, and they were not. Drugged daily, they were no longer capable of assaulting him.

On the second day he should've been back at school, he slipped on his shoes, picked up his suitcase, and stepped over their passed out bodies. He took a moment to study each of them, to read the curses on their skin, and to see how nicely they were coming along. James had coughed up blood for two days now. That was a good sign. Though his face was mostly healed, holes would burst open on their own, ejecting a clear discharge as his immune system turned against him. Even now, two of the wounds puckered like sphincters, leaking while James slept in his underwear on the floor.

Changes in the others weren't nearly as obvious, but those were milder curses. As their hair fell out and they lost their teeth, they would come to realize they'd been given more time than James. Unwanted time. As James's body rejected his organs, and tried to push them out of him, they would learn that time was a cage, and not one of them was going to escape it.

Meanwhile, without him to make the drug they needed, they would all undergo withdrawal on top of their curses.

Severus twisted the doorknob just as James's hand closed around his ankle. "Where do you think you're going?"

One kick got him free, only to be hit with a stinging spell from Sirius, who sat up in the bed. Severus could've snatched James's wand for the third time, had Sirius and the Fire Shackled not both activated at the same time. The pain no longer forced him to cry out, but it brought him to his knees, making him wish he had more Velvet Willow in his veins. Anger, and the drug, could not coexist with one another.

James, groggy and sloppy from days of lethargy, threw himself on Snape. Peter and Remus quickly roused, to find James holding Snape while Sirius stood over them, wand at the ready.

James screamed down into Snape's stone expression. "What the fuck did you do to me? Tell me, Snape, what did you do!" He drew back and punched Snape three times before Remus got past Sirius to pull him off. Peter looked confused, sitting up on the other side of the bed.

Snape stared at the tendons stretching to their limit on James's neck. Even if he wanted to answer him, James was too livid to comprehend anything over his anger. He knew damn well what Snape had done. Dark circles sank his eyes deeper into his skull. They made his badly grafted face appear all the more sticky and irritated. Shirtless, his lungs threatened burst from his chest as he continued to yell.

"We had you. The Fire Shackle bound you. You couldn't hurt me. What did you fucking do?"

Snape drove his hatred into James and snarled, "I gave you what you wanted."

"Why am I puking blood?"

"I demand payment. I demand your life."

James drew back to hit him again. His body seized in a coughing fit that reopened his face and splattered Severus with blood. Before Severus could push himself clear, Sirius sent a volley of painful blue sparks into his chest. The last thing he saw before passing out, was Remus diving onto Sirius.


	13. Exit Wounds

Severus listened through the walls. He heard, not because the boards were thin, but because withdrawal, pulling on his veins for a taste it could not get, forced him to send his awareness away from it. The room was still charmed to be soundproof, he was certain. So he let his mind tune out all else, and narrowed his focus on the four in the next room. This way, he escaped the sucking need, the pulling demand, for chemical soothing, for minutes at a time. It was as if he had to stay in his body, but his hearing could extend in range for as long as his nerves were distracted by need.

His arteries thinned to accommodate racing blood, pressurizing their inner walls until they threatened to collapse if they did not get what they wanted. His body was throwing a tantrum, like a baby angry at a bottle that yielded no milk. Sucking and sucking on something that wasn't coming. It hurt, but it wasn't nearly as painful as the desire to get out of there. He knew how to do it.

Before, he could not have been sure of how the Fire Shackle would interpret apperating against James's will. Now he was free to remove that burning spell, but his senses were too obscured by drug use, to fine tune his way to that subtle door outside of his body and take off the string attachment. If he removed the one, the link to all of them were removed. That's how the lazy idiot had linked the lockets instead of giving each one its own secure binding. Once that shackle was removed, he wasn't sure he was strong enough to apperate, but he knew he'd get past the boys. He knew how to go right through them.

Now that he'd seen their room, he knew what to do. They had muggle lamps. Shortly after being dumped back in the room given to him, he'd made a show of breaking the three oil lamps in a fit of rage. Even after Peter and Remus did their best to piece them together, they wouldn't light. James retaliated by destroying the open sky façade that Peter had made. After three hours in the dark, his silence persuaded Remus that he'd calmed enough to accept the lamp from their room. Now all he had to do was wait. He listened as they struggled to come up with a workable plan through the effects of withdrawal.

"Does anyone else's hands itch?" He heard Peter ask.

"No, but my teeth feel funny." That sounded like Remus. "That's the withdrawal. Wait till it really kicks in. The worst will be over in three days."

There was some droning discussion on Remus's knowledge of symptoms before Sirius spoke over them. "Well, gents. What now? We were counting on obliviating him. None of our spells are working."

Remus added remorsefully, "We can't even transform him, the four of us together. It's like he's warded the integrity of his body. Why now and not before?"

Why indeed. Because now that he was done with them, he didn't have to tolerate anymore of their nonsense. James had sneered an hour ago, his split face dripping puss, and joked about not wanting to obliviate him. "I wish I knew a spell that could have you always remember, but never talk about it. The Fire Shackle is strong, but I can't trust it with that."

Snape was thinking to himself, you don't have to worry. That's guaranteed.

But James couldn't obliviate him or use any of the other spells he tried with any effectiveness. Snape had stood with his back against the wall, across from the uncharmed wall, and made sure James could see the humorless dull ache of remembrance in his eyes. The shadows there told James, I will not forget. I will never forget.

When all four of them tried, exerting what strength they had between them in an unnecessary and prolonged crossfire of effort, Snape's mind dimmed a little under the pressure. He lost sight of the boys, but saw white, after images of the witches behind them. For the second time, four witches appeared and extended their influence into the wands leveled at Severus, rendering them ineffective. So they were still present. He wanted to believe that they were still protecting him, but he distrusted that, regardless of the effect. His body would mend from what they'd talked him into doing. But his mind never would.

James and his friends, exhausted and shaking from withdrawal, had gone back to their room, defeated and confused. Severus stood and walked the length of the room over and over, just to will his limbs to feel their old energy. When he had to sit down, he avoided the bed, and sat on the chair from the desk, with his back to the wall that separated the two rooms.

James thought out loud. "I always thought that if this turned really bad, we could transform him. Sirius mentioned it once, the perfect murder. You know, like turn him into a small animal, place him with a natural predator, and let nature take its course. It's practically untraceable."

Peter corrected him. "Until you're questioned about his disappearance, because he was last seen in your company, and your wand is confiscated for examination of your last two hundred spells. I don't have to tell you all, we'll need to prepare against that, and get James to a proper healer who can be bribed."

"Okay, smartass, what do you suggest we do with Snape? How do we make sure he never leaks a word?"

When Peter had nothing, Sirius spoke up. "We kill him, muggle style. We have no choice now."

When no one said anything, he added. "We destroy any trace. Nobody saw him come here with us. Nobody saw him leave the school with us. They all thought he was suicidal anyway. We say, the last we saw of him was a week ago, when he returned to his room. It's our word against anyone else's." He shrugged.

Remus sounded agitated. "But Dumbledore knows he was with us, that we'd made plans. James gave a decoy location of where we're staying to McGonagall, but it's only a matter of time before this whole village is searched for a missing student. And now that we've missed school, all five of us, there's no hiding how suspicious it'll look."

James added, "Then our story'll just have to be more clever than that. We can say we did go off together. But Snape got all moody and ran off from us. Everyone knows he likes to be alone. We didn't show up for school because we thought we could find him and talk some sense into him. We risked expulsion to bring him back, unharmed."

Remus asked, "So why didn't we report him lost the minute he wouldn't come back?"

"We didn't want to catch blame for it, knowing how suspicious it looked. Knowing our track record. We figured we'd get blamed for Snape's disappearance and we panicked. But in the end, we returned to school, reported to Dumbledore, and did the right thing. If they never find the body, they have proof that Severus felt comfortable enough to stay with us willingly."

"I would rather go to Askaban than kill Severus," Remus stated.

"Then perhaps you'd like to join him." Sirius countered.

"Look, nobody want's to kill the bloody git. I'm just saying, that's our last alternative if we can't come up with a spell that shuts him up for good."

Peter's voice grew louder. "Why did we miss school? Even a day? He's done something, I don't feel like myself."

"It's the drug, which he took, same as us." Sirius commented, unfazed.

"Yes," Remus agreed with Peter. "James is sick. His face should be healed by now. We're acting like we can't leave this place, and now we've made returning to school a hundred times harder. We're at each others throats. We've missed school. School, for god's sake. He's done something, I can feel it.  
Let's go in there, talk to him, and throw ourselves at his mercy. Let's try to make it right. We haven't been ourselves since this whole thing started. We've had our fun, let's see if there's any way to make it up to him. The spell will wear off and we can put this whole disgusting episode behind us."

Snape suppressed his scorn. Poor impotent Remus. Always the reasonable one, but too afraid to use his passions effectively. That thinking, powered by James's reckless belief in himself, might've been the only safe way out. It soared above their heads like a miracle dove of hope. He heard James shoot it down.

"Not bloody likely. Get your head out of your ass, Remus. Just because he let you shag him, doesn't mean he's going to bloody negotiate on this. We fucked him over good. We're going back to school, but he's staying here till we figure out what to do. I'll pay the innkeeper to hold the rooms, till we can move him to another location. If we have to, we can apperate him to a basement I know, and do whatever we have to do there."

"We don't have our license yet," Peter argued. "We're weeks away."

"Ever heard of house-elves?"

Remus asked, "What does, 'whatever we have to do there,' mean exactly?

"It means, if we have to hold his head in a vat of water until he drowns and throw his body in the river for someone to find, then that's where we'll do it."

"You are a dark wizard, James."

"And you're right here with me, mate."

By the time they worked out the details of returning to school, Severus was ready for them. He imagined what it would feel like to hold James's head underwater. He went with it softly, like a whim, and felt the Fire Shackle inflict moderate threat. He gritted his teeth and aimed all his aggression on holding James down. The pain electrified him. It gave him the precious second he needed to shift away from his body. He saw the glowing strands of the curse when he looked for it. They attached to his neck, leaving long tendrils dragging off into insubstantial threads that lost their visibility the further they traveled away from him. They disappeared through the wall.

He snatched at them and flung them off. Relief was instant. In that moment, he saw the witches in the room. Their orb forms glowed, emitting their delight. A dozen or more stood in veiled form, their billowing black layers reminded him of dementors waiting for a kiss. Now was not the time to let them lure him into their designs, or take his displeasure out on them. He threw his demand for flames at the broken lamps, and they ignited, providing light. He had only to think of physically reaching for the muggle lamp before he was back in his body and reaching for it. His fingers worked quickly to disassemble it.

When James and his friends opened the door to try their next spell, Severus raised his detached lamp cord like a lasso, drew on the magnetism around him, and charged the wires in the cord to hold an electrical current strong enough to spike through the length of it. His magic conducted along the wires, gaining visibility from an invisible spectrum. The more it pulsed through natural and synthetic fibers, the more it shone as cold, blue streaks of light. The cord slapped around wildly at first, like a hose pressurized with too much water. The boys backed away from it, scattering themselves against the wall.

Severus watched their eyes grow huge and terrified. His was a rogue wand, unrefined, and unable to understand the language of spells and curses. But it could pull raw energy out of the air and toss it like boulders, from one hillside to the other. His will and his magic would have to shape it the best he could. Right now, it was doing exactly what he needed it to do. James and his friends were so caught off guard, they could not remember to lift their wands. Severus's weapon lit up the room. Its lash left such a long tail of crackling light in its wake, the sight alone was enough to intimidate the boys into a stupor of indecision.

Even Severus didn't know what he had. He'd tried the trick ages ago as a boy, setting accidental fire to his mother's shed. He'd managed to get it out, but did not escape punishment from his father. After that, he only practiced the technique a few times, far away from flammable objects or Tobias's disapproving eyes.

James was the first to strike. His retaliation seemed to wake the others up. All four sent a volley of panic and ammunition out at Snape. Their spells broke like shards against the whip-like rotation of Snape's cord. The cord spun so fast that it left magic scattered in its wake, sucking unused energy and potential into a moving vacuum around Snape. That vacuum collapsed the laws of physics around him. The spinning was so forceful, stretching and thinning the fabric of time-space as if it were elastic glass, that the boys could see clearly into the next dimension from the physical. There, Snape's wheels of magic showed themselves. Written flame, embedded into cogs that moved with clock-precision in ten foot arches above Snape's body, burned into sight one minute, and was gone the next.

Snape blocked their attacks and fought his way through bombardment to the bathroom. His cord emitted a blue glow that lit up the walls as he ran through to the other room. The boys pursued him, leaving scorched wallpaper and the stink of burning rubber in their wake.

Wires in the cord burned through their insulation. They burned hottest where Snape's hand made direct contact. His magic was incompatible with the materials. Though his hand burned severely, it won him his freedom. He looked back at James and his friends, risking valuable seconds, just to see the looks of disbelieving, sinking illness, turn them green. He stormed out to his freedom.

To the innkeeper he passed on the stairs, he was just a blur of voluptuous black smoke, hair and coat. The man barely saw his face, which only lingered in his afterthought because of the ghostly shock and injury etched upon it. Long after James and his friends obliviated him, the owner would dream of seeing a slender young man, pale and disheveled, haunting the upper rooms of his boarding house. The walls would retain that stain, that recording, for sensitive seers to stumble upon, generation after generation. The story would be there, for anyone to tune in to and listen.

Snape raced into the night, overjoyed at the cold air crashing onto his face. It took seconds to orient himself to his placement. He stood in a little lane of overgrown hedges overlooking the rest of Hogsmeade. The village sprawled downhill, intersecting into shops and streets that glowed against a fresh bout of fallen snow. It appeared to be early evening, the sky was not at its darkest. People scattered the walkways and roamed in bundled patches along the storefronts. He scooped snow into his injured hand and took off down the hill.

He hoped to lose himself in a crowd. There were no crowds, and the longer he moved, the more he felt the cost on his body. His muscles had atrophied somewhat, lying around as he had for almost two weeks. Withdrawal made it worse, but his desperation to get away, had him feeling adrenaline more than anything else at the moment. Even the blisters on his hand, were nothing compared to what they would feel like later. He saw the boys leave the boarding house. They saw him.

All of them were so entangled in magic, he knew he couldn't hide from them. They would be led by their senses, by their desperation. They would sniff him out, from those lawless moments of shared intimacy alone, let alone their desire for his silence. The best he could do, was meet them in a place that afforded him protection. They were going to have this out. Adults would only complicate everything with questions. Severus had to fight his way out of this.

They chased him into open fields between the village and the school. None of them moved with the ease and coordination they should've. Withdrawal made each of them beg their muscles for every ounce of strength they could muster. Severus cut through woods and a patch of farmland that opened onto an old, disused cemetery. There, he held his ground, stumbling in an ambush that left them hedging property that belonged to the school. They all ducked behind ruined foundations, collapsed shacks, and leaning headstones. The boys fired at Severus. Deer scrambled out of their path.

Severus suppressed the boys by sending rapid surges of energy through his cord, so fast that it straightened like a rod, momentarily, and burned everything in its path. Tree limbs fell from overhead, a slab of granite exploded, and Peter's shirt may have actually caught fire. Severus couldn't be sure, he turned and made for the shallows that he knew branched off from the Black Lake. In his fourth-year botany studies, he'd discovered the stony embankment and cave systems that vented Hogwart's cavernous foundations. Only forested cliffs and a sloping horizon prevented him from seeing the South side of the castle. They were that close. But numerous waterways branched like a vein systems beneath the bedrock of the castle and left more ground to cover.

In researching the history of Hogwarts, Severus's studies revealed that builders solved the problem of fresh water springs beneath the bedrock, by reinforcing eighty meter walls, wide and deep, with quarried materials. Subterranean canals afforded the castle its own irrigation and plumbing system before any of the surrounding areas could say the same. Severus was left to assume that, as succeeding headmasters bowed to a little modernization, improved magic, and rewritten practices, the bowels of the castle fell into disuse, requiring only minimal inspection as specialized by elves.

It was filthy down there, but contained structural integrity fit for daily use, as it once had been. There were cathedrals of platforms and halls down there. One could live there, if one had the wherewithal to pull it off. The castle was a refuge before it became a school, after all. Rumors of Salazar Slytherin's dark magic still prevailing down there, were plausible.

Underwater, grills and rubble denied access to ventricles long shut off into the castle. While he did not have permission to apperate into Hogwarts, he knew a few shortcuts that would at least gain him entrance to the abandoned levels. He wasn't going to be able to walk into the main entrance with James this close. Once inside, it would be far more difficult for James to do anything more against him, especially when his deterioration accelerated with each day. Without their leader, the others would be lost to their own symptoms and mounting insecurities.

He was supposed to find a low laying wall, overgrown with algae and moss. It would've told him how far away he was from boulders marking the place where a duct let out overflow from the river. That duct was large enough for him to crawl through. But it was winter. The wall was hidden by snow and darkness. Boulders, sticking out of the earth, were also camouflaged. He slipped on them, just as James and Sirius spotted him through skeletal trees. He could not catch his fall, finding nothing to grip beneath the snow and rocks. He slid down a stretched of escavated rock, slicing his coat and clothes as he went, and landed on a bed of ice. Cold stung his bare skin. That's how he new the edges of the rocks had done more damage than he'd felt going down. He pushed himself up. His hand slipped, and he knew that wasn't water.

Thin ice cracked under his feet. He wasn't worried about falling through. The ice was only inches thick in this spot away from the drain. It sloped off twenty meters away before dropping through a grill. He slipped on the ice as James fired above him. Without looking back, he whipped his cord in James's direction and caught him in his waist, with compact force. He'd used the cord to conduct air magic instead of heating the wires. His hands needed a break. James went sprawling. Sirius shouted to the others whom Severus could not see. "Cut him off."

Above him, they had the advantage. They could make out his position in the dark, while they were invisible to him. He let them think he was headed downstream of the ice, saw them beat him there, then lashed as much energy into the side of the embankment where they stood. The resulting explosion of rock and soil lifted Sirius, Remus, and Peter off of their feet and sent them down into the ravine with him. Ass over heads, none of them recovered immediately. None of them got to their feet. Severus had time to run. He had time to lose them. The idea of stealing a wand and binding them in a spell that would last through the night, had him calculating that not even they knew where there wands were at that point.

He heard James before he saw him. A heaving grunt advertised the effort it took for James to drag his body down into the ravine. The next second saw Severus dashing aside to avoid the predictable shot. It was a reflex, one he'd learned without turning to face his attacker. On his spinning swing, he whipped a burning lash down the length of James's face and neck. It cauterized as it went, sending howls and stench into the air around them. James's scream released something in Severus. Something vaporous and corked too long against its own potency. Once escaped, it would not go back into the bottle. Severus brought the cord down on James again. And again. Well after he'd dropped his wand and fallen to his knees. Well after he'd covered his head with his hands. Well after black char dotted his scalp where hair had been.

Severus was in tears and flinging curses that his cord was incapable of fulfilling, as he beat James against the ice. He didn't care if all anyone found of James was a puddle of scorched entrails for the animals to scavenge. He didn't care if they knew he did it. He would never be able to undo what they'd done to him. The fact that his body hadn't changed back yet, brought to surface real fears that delighted in tearing the meat from James's hands as he tried to shield himself.

It wasn't a curse that got him from behind, but a tackle. Sirius gripped his arms while Remus relieved him of the cord. Peter stood back, his broken wand at the ready. Disarmed, Severus managed to get his hands around Sirius's throat, in spite of the blows. He knew there was only one little bone he had to push into the esophagus, to stop the entire breathing apparatus. It was a tiny thing, protected and insulated by tough muscle. His vision went dark as his thumbs pressed with all their might. He never felt Sirius's blows. He never felt James's kick to his head. For whatever reason, their magic wasn't working on him, so they used physical blows to subdue him. Sirius and James did not stop when Severus's body was unconscious. They didn't stop when it appeared lifeless. Sirius only stopped kicking him, stopped smashing rocks into his ribs just to hear them break, when Remus and Peter held him down.

Snape looked like a corpse to them. He lay, limbs splayed on the ice. In the moonlight, the darker pools, they figured were blood. It could just as easily have been their blood as well as Snape's.

As minutes passed and they all climbed higher out of the danger they'd escaped, they began to realize that Snape still wasn't moving. He didn't look like he was breathing. None of them dared to go near him. They needed their own recovery. They needed the chill to wake them from the nightmare where everything had gone wrong within minutes, where they had all lost total control.

"See if he's got a pulse," James ordered Remus.

"I'm not bloody touching him!"

James snarled through bloody spittle. Several teeth were missing and he had to limp to the body. "It's too late for that fucking attitude."

Instead of checking for a pulse, he just looked at the drawn and twisted tension frozen in Snape's features. Instead of seeing the tension as discomfort, as stress from something alive and suffering, he saw what he wanted to see. He saw death. He knew that rigor mortis sealed and recorded a person's death. If there was no time for a person's body to relax before the heart stopped beating, the viewing of a murdered body displayed all the agony the victim suffered. It was right there in the muscle tension, in the crease between the brow. A face could freeze that way till the skin lost its taut connectivity and began to sag with atrophy. He'd heard stories of morticians taking great pains to stretch the trauma out of a corpse's face. If Snape wasn't dead, that would serve their purposes even better.

At first, the idea of leaving the body like it was, was the easiest and most appealing. He was too tired to fight with Snape anymore, not even dead Snape. Dead. That was word to him. That was data. He knew that it amounted to more than that. He knew, even to him, it was a tragedy they had not wanted. But damned if he was going to fall apart now. Snape shouldn't have tried to fight them. Not after agreeing, not after drinking the wine and putting on the act with Dumbledore. This was as much Snape's fault as it was theirs and he wasn't going to spend one minute grieving for him.

In fact, it pissed James off even more. That motherfucker would rather be dead than live with their secret. Would rather rot than live with James's touch. Now who was being petty? James had wanted to think fondly on the hidden knowledge he shared with Snape. He'd wanted to take it out and look at it the way people cherished their scrapbooks and trophies. It was a landmark of magic. A plateau of mastery. He bet no other wizard could say they tackled such a difficult spell, or its ensuing challenges, while still in school. He was a genius, and that asshole just went and put a blight on it. No, let people think that Snape had gone off and done exactly what he should've done a long time ago.

It took over an hour for them to talk it through, just to make sure everyone was on the same page. It took another thirty minutes to send Peter back to the innkeeper to obliviate him. Everyone had to repeat the story. Snape went missing. They'd searched until they were sick with exhaustion and too afraid to tell the Headmaster. They'd missed two days of class in the searching. Anxiety had them fearful of being blamed and reluctant to report it.

The body would have to turn up on its own, if it ever did. It would corroborate their story. It would be bloated and drowned. Injuries could've come from being caught against rocks or an undertow. The underground current would carry it downstream. Reports would go out a week from now, or two, of a missing student's body finally found. It'll be ruled a suicide. Even Pompfrey and Dumbledore knew Snape was that bad off. They had tried to keep him from being alone at Yule, and still he ran off. It just showed, you couldn't make someone live if they didn't want to.

Together, they made a pact of secrecy and pushed Snape's body over the edge of a grill that sent runoff water back into the ground. A six-meter drop, the water collected in a reservoir and merged back into the lake system. Remus felt a part of himself tear off with the splash. Every part of him knew it was wrong and screamed at him. In his mind, he screamed back that Snape was dead and there was nothing anyone could do now. It was survival now, nothing else. They'd all played a terrible game. They'd all lost. Going to prison wasn't going to bring Snape back, and Snape had played it too. Snape had gambled too, with his body and his life.

Remus believed in the afterlife. Not just ghosts and talking portraits, but real aliveness beyond the body. He believed he had a connection with Snape, and through that, he could pay enough sorrow to atone his way out of whatever curse they'd brought on themselves.

They spend the rest of the night working on their injuries. What couldn't be fixed by raiding Pomfrey's supplies, had to be concealed with camouflage spells. Peter knew one for temporary teeth, but not for healing the burns on James's scalp. He compensated by lengthening enough hair to cover the spots. Sometime before sunrise, they went to the Headmaster's office and reported Snape as missing.

In his office, with McGonagall present, Dumbledore listened to their story, and listened again as they retold it to agents from the Ministry. By breakfast, a full investigation into the disappearance of Severus, was underway. By noon, bulletins had gone up throughout the village and neighboring areas. The boys were detained for under-aged truth serums and pensieve detection, but Dumbledore talked the Ministry into holding off for a day.

"These boys need medical attention and rest. They are dehydrated from their search and sick with worry."

The Minister frowned. "And you stand by the characters of these boys? They have records, you know."

"Petty grievances. I stand by the ethical humanness of letting them rest before facing a battery of aurors."

"And if the Snape boy perishes out there somewhere, while your boys get their beauty rest, it's on your hands."

"My conscience, Minister, as well as my hands, take full responsibility."

When he'd gone, McGonagall huffed. "Albus, do you actually believe this cockamamie drivel? These boys lie all the time. Severus could be hurting as we speak - "

He raised a hand. "Minerva, I am aware that the boys are lying."

"Oh?" She hadn't expected him to admit it that easily.  
"I'm also aware that Severus will return to us very soon. I had to get the Ministry involved, to let them do their job. But I am privileged to more insight than they. As you know, we can't turn the welfare of these students, over to the Ministry completely. I fear, the boys are far beyond petty crimes, and giving them adult sentencing is not going to take care of the matter."

Her mouth fell open, then closed. "Are you speaking of the prophecies, Albus?" She hadn't known it was that serious. She'd thought all the skirmishes between the Potter boy and Severus, were nothing more than personality clashes gotten out of hand. The boys should be punished. But if what Albus was saying, was true, it wasn't up to them to meet out the punishment. It was out of their hands and far beyond the legal system.

Dumbledore nodded. "The boys have made their choices. Their actions position them very strategically and identify their roles. At least we know who they are now. If we try to intervene, we could upset other processes unfolding. Severus will return. When he does, all five of the boys will undergo a questioning more thorough than any auror could hope to give them, as well as suspension that will cost them graduating with their peers, but they must remain in school for now. We cannot expel them or hand them over to dementors."

So he was talking about the prophecies. That was much more serious than truant teenagers. "Why here, Albus? Why is this school host to such heinous people? This is all taking place alongside innocent children."

"And innocent children will take up arms. It is the innocence within these walls, that keeps the dark out. I know you don't want to believe that, but all of these boys were innocent. Children, more than anyone, will be affected by the coming war. At least we know something of who, among this generation, are allies and who are not. Severus has made a great sacrifice and we must honor him for it."

"By providing food and shelter to his enemies?"

"No, by saying nothing to him as he watches them die. The boy has never killed another human being before. It's going to take something out of him. He thinks he's ready for it, but he isn't. If we are to ask this of him again, and we will, we must give him the space to become the warrior that we're asking for. Do not attempt to take the sight from him. He must face it if he's to be ready for what comes next."

She put a hand to her throat. "And what, exactly, comes next?"

"War, Minerva. The life of every child in the wizarding world is poised to face war. Severus possesses an excess of magic, not given to ten wizarding children. When darkness finds its way back into this world, the light sends its natural predator as well. Trelawney prophesized that the school would need a child born of eight murders."

"She sounded insane. We couldn't believe you hired her."

"Ah, there's still a sound connection to the Universe in that battered brain of hers. The reception is fuzzy, but still there. They Ministry took advantage of her, trying to get more out of her than she could give. Once I figured out that she meant the child's soul would survive eight abortions to collect exponential magic, I was able to look for a child with eight wheels of life. I'd never seen more than three encircling anyone. It took years. Imagine my astonishment when Severus's eleven year-old presence undid the wards in the Great Hall the very moment he entered. I knew that was our warrior. That was our champion and we needed to keep him happy here. I had no idea that he would be tested within these very walls."

She shook her head. "I don't have your sight, Albus. I can't be happy about sending children to their doom."

"No one's happy about that, Minerva. Be happy that we found Severus before the enemy did."


	14. Riddled

Over the next week, gossip swarmed the school concerning Severus's disappearance. Locals volunteered to help comb the grounds. Hogwarts played host to a Ministry investigation that had every student questioned, trunks turned out and belongings searched for clues and information. Dumbledore continuously reassured students they were not being treated like criminals, and surely, they understood the need for a rigorous search for their missing classmate.

School elves had pinned the same photo of Snape to every bulletin board in the school and along posts and windows throughout Hogsmeade. The only picture that could be found of him, was taken three years ago in a Slytherin House group photo. Snape, one of the tallest boys, crouched in the back row, unsmiling and looking rather annoyed at having been asked to put down his book to take a picture with his Housemates. In the blown up photo, he glared as a flash went off in his face.

James swayed on his feet, finding it difficult to believe officials were searching that hard for Snape. "They're acting like he's bloody royalty," he said under his breath. His fever was climbing, but he didn't want to miss another class. During his three-day rest, awarded by Dumbledore to all of them, he received the medical help he needed. No one mentioned his withdrawal symptoms or his injuries. He guessed that he and his friends weren't the first to skip class, get high, and arrive late back at school. If their story hadn't involved a missing student, questions might've been more severe. Punishment might've been substantial. But as it was, everyone, including the teachers, were making a big show of proving that Hogwarts takes care of its kids.

The fuss everyone was making over Snape was nauseating. His legs already felt like noodles, and he wished everyone would just cut it out. It was bad enough that he knew what happened to the bugger, he didn't need to see the guy's face tacked up everywhere and people lamenting him.

James walked between Sirius and Remus, half stumbling into them from weak legs. He was on a number of potions to sort out digestion and nervousness. His story of searching for Snape, for days, won Poppy's sympathies and had her sending him to his room with the strongest sleeping draught she could legally give him. A team of medical wizards were still working on the mystery of his internal bleeding and finding organ cells in his stool, as if his liver and kidneys were slowly dissolving from the surface and oozing out of his body. His vitals were high and stable enough to continue classes, but the medications regulating them, were strong and varied, causing him to miss sporadically.

His friends were seen to suffer similar, hysterical reactions to the disappearance of their classmate. Everyone could clearly see that Peter was having dramatic hair loss. No matter how many spells he used, he did not retain enough of his real hair to hide the fact. He'd put on noticeable weight in all the wrong places, especially around his neck. His eyes appeared to bulge in a permanent state of Hyperthyroidism and he was sent to a real hospital to test for Grave's Disease.

Sirius's distress gave him away in class. He looked the same, but bit sharply at teachers for the smallest offenses. He started fights in the hall and took a swing at Slughorn. After his detention, his irrational aggression had him screaming at McGonagall for shooing him to his room at curfew. Several other boys had to hold him back. Even Peter and Remus looked at him as if they didn't know him. Rather than face expulsion, his parents signed a release to have him undergo psychological evaluation. His brain scans turned up measurements that placed his pineal gland millimeters off-center. By muggle standards that meant an inoperable tumor. By wizard standards, that meant a therapy of potions to try to shrink it.

Remus contemplated the bad luck befalling his friends. He took long walks, attempting to appreciate his life, and hoping that his newfound respect would keep karma away from him. Aside from depression and regret, he felt fine. He didn't sleep much. Instead of fighting insomnia, he got out of bed, borrowed James's cloak and wandered the castle. A few nights had him going so far near the Forbidden Forest, wishing he could undo the last two months. He never entered. The nightmare was still too close, too looming. But he got as close as he could and offered Snape's ghost prayers. He asked for forgiveness.

Somewhere, Snape was conscious and aware, even if he didn't have a body. Remus suspected that his show of respect had something to do with not being counted among the hospitalized, with his friends. The four of them were rarely present together nowadays, what with one or more always having a medical appointment or some treatment to have to take. The fact that he often woke up in the woods, his skin torn and bloody, his clothes hanging off of him, would go unacknowledged until he pieced the lost evenings and hours together.

As soon as they'd dumped his body, black water engulfed Severus. It lifted him, turning him gently, as he drifted from one current into the long muscles of another one. Cold water shocked his nervous system, pulling him out of it with just enough separation to watch himself float along the course of the water. The body did not breathe. Neither did it expel. It retained stasis, though he didn't know how. Was his awareness of it, willing it to stay alive? He could not touch it, could only follow it. The light around him, seeming to have doubled in size since last he saw it in James's room, emitted a strong glow. A strange yellow-gold essence, like looking through tinted glass. His life was far from dimming, yet he didn't know why his body wasn't taking in water.

 _You still have a chance._

There she was. Closer to him than if she'd been beside him. She, being the hundreds of whispers wrapped inside one witch's voice.

His body obeyed the direction of current, and traveled down further, like it was being called. Natural sediment and clay walls gave way to bricks and man-made construction. His shell sank into an abyss, a tank of blackness as empty as space. He went after it. He could not lose sight of it. That didn't seem to be a problem. Occasionally, he saw light reflecting off the surface of quarried stone and bedrock. Occasionally, the body had to turn an awkward corner, and was handled as gently as a mother picking up her precious infant. He got the feeling that whatever summoned his body through the dark, was taking care of it, making sure it didn't scrape against bacteria infested wall, or roll over jagged piles of rocks, left there since the building of the castle.

He wondered for a moment, if his own aura, his own life force, was responsible for seeing his safe passage to these depths.

 _Partly,_ the witches answered him.

 _Your magic begs for more time. We sing to your cells. We make them forget air and breathe the extra magic that you hold. They get life direct from the light around you, and do not have to wait for oxygen to carry it to them._

The light coming from around him, lit up the ruins below. His body drifted to a stop and rested on the rubble of a stone floor. This was a place so deep, so remote from the surface, algae did not grow and sediment did not move. Only the trance slowness of his billowing coat hinted that the water was still moving at all.

I want out! He stated it strongly in his being.

 _This is not a dream. You do not wake up because you want to._

I want out.

 _You must use your stores of magic to free yourself. We can keep the body alive for a short time. After that, if you have not found a way to bring yourself up, you will have to leave it here._

That was unacceptable.

 _Withdraw. It will be fine for a while. Go to your mother's cabinet and see what's there. Mind your spells._

He didn't like what they were telling him. He couldn't just leave his body. It was still alive. He had to get it out.

 _You are emotionally attached to it, because it is still alive. If we were to let the cells die, you would find it easier to let go._

No, don't! Don't let it die. I'm not finished, I need it. I'm not dead. I shouldn't have to die because of those assholes.

 _We agree. And you don't have to. But your current turmoil would vanish if you wanted to let go._

Why were they trying to talk him into letting go now, when all they wanted him to do was fight before?

 _We want you to live. We are invested in your life, but we cannot give you all the answers. We say, look into the cabinet. There is a new yellow light. It replaces what you have used against the others. You will not like the color of the essence at first, but you will find a growing comfort within it._

Fucking riddles. How long did his body have? The witches had already compromised his trust in them. He'd gone from feeling powerful to being a victim on the bottom of a watery grave. He shouldn't trust them just because his mother believed in their benevolence. She hadn't been led to a happy ending herself.

 _You did not come here for happy endings. You came to lend your help. Even if that meant death of the body. You will always live, Severus._

He tried to shut her out. The need to raise his body consumed him. His magic ought to have been enough. It ought to have buoyed him back to the surface until his head popped up above the waterline. But no matter how much he willed it, stared at it, and willed it some more, it remained still. The bottles in the cabinet were used for fueling spells. Did he want anymore involvement from them? Would the witches consider anything done with the bottles, their business as well? He just didn't trust any of it now.

Something disturbed the water. Pressure shifted against his prone body, and his spirit felt it. Physically, nothing could be seen beyond the soft light emitted by his aura. But energy swam around him. Energy so subtle, so attuned to the sanctuary of black depths, that it flowed like liquid into the watery ruins around him. It pulled on his mind. It weighed on him, and coaxed him gently to his body.

 _He comes._

Who?

 _The lord of this dwelling. Your magic provokes him._

Before he could ask anything else, pressure squeezes him. All sight disappears from his mind and his body feels wrapped in mummification. He is bound in water and darkness.

"Who could this be? You were right, my friend. We do have a visitor."

The voice is warm and human. Not something that should exist this far below the castle. Severus's reasoning could not piece it together. It was a young voice. A male's good-natured inflection. His mind leapt to the idea of some ancient, murdered ghost preferring the darkest, wettest parts of the castle.

From that dark, an image emerged. A person emerged. Dark haired, wide-eyed, and just as solid as any living human being. Strands of his hair reflected brown highlights. His skin showed clear, humanly porous and smooth, and he wore normal clothes. At least, a dated uniform beneath his open school robe. He looked no older than Severus, and smiled, radiating youth and vigor, that seemed too good to be true.

"Hello, friend. My pet told me I would find you here. He smelled your exquisite magic and correctly ascertained my interest immediately."

Severus took his interest off of the boy long enough to look for the pet. That's when he realized that that's what was causing the pressure around him. Something very large was swimming in a great circle, invisibly through the black waters. As if reading his mind, the young man did something. He didn't move or motion, but Severus knew he did something to cause the water to glow with an effervescence that backlit the streak swimming through it. The creature swimming around them was the size of a train, in thickness and length. Scales of armor glistened iridescently and Severus discerned the shadowy silhouette of horns where a fat black bulk indicated the head was leading the rest of its eel-like body.

"Do you like him? A beauty, isn't he? Rather like you."

The young man's smile spread from him, every bit as exuberant as laughter from anyone else. "I'm sorry, my name is Tom. Tom Riddle. How on earth have you stumbled into my home? No one's been down here for ages."

Severus could not begin to respond to the question.

 _He's not to be trusted, Severus._

"Oh, I'm sorry. You're still alive. You must have so many questions. Well, the fact that we're talking, means that you're a step up from most people. You have a greater awareness, certainly a propensity for stronger magic. I'm here because I guard these levels. I uphold the values that Salazar Slytherin founded this school on. I have no power in the halls of the school, but I claim dominion below."

Severus had no sooner asked in his mind, "You're dead?" than Tom Riddle answered it.

"Death is a matter of perspective. I'm alive to you, and dead to some. I found a way to move and act without the burden of the corporeal form. You can only see me because I want you to."

 _Severus, he's going to make you an offer. Do not trust him._

"The basilisk is my eyes and ears. Your death throes sent your magic out like a beacon, signaling your distress. Your body has the smell of a half-blood, but the magic of it is so concentrated and abundant for a muggle-born. I had to see for myself. I am not disappointed. My pet knew I'd like you."

As hard as Severus tried to assess this young man's - no, this thing's manner and words - all he could feel was his own desperation to leave. They were in a place never meant for human habitation, and cold isolation jabbed at him to return to the world of the living.

"I…"

"How did you end up in the water?"

Without trying, the answer to that question leapt like a bad movie, replaying the worst scenes in Severus's mind.

"I see. No worries. You're safe now." Tom nodded. "I felt you when you hit the water, you know. Your magic is that strong. I didn't know what I'd caught till I reeled you in. The fact that your physical body lives, and you survived the descent, makes me want to help you. It tells me that you can be helped."

 _Severus…_

Severus strained to block the witches out and to hear how to rescue his body.

"You have an extraordinary amount of magic. Going unused. I can taste it. Would you be willing to part with some of it, in order to save your physical body?"

Severus's mind went back to his mother's cabinet, where there were not as many jars because of the curses he'd put on James and the others. This lapse in attention drew him right to the cabinet. The jars sat, their liquid lights glowing with untapped potential. Each one held a life's worth of magic. Did he dare give up one, just to save his pathetic life? His parents died for this.

His instincts said yes, especially since the urgency to rescue his body proved that his life wasn't so pathetic after all. It was a life worth saving. His was a body worth cherishing and never allowing it to be mistreated again. Something that could hurt that much, or feel that good, should never go uncared for ever again. It was a body worth loving. He hated that it took his victimization to show him that.

 _Severus, control your thoughts. He sees your treasures._

Then he must've seen the new jar that caught Severus's eye. It sat on a higher shelf, a shelf that was not there before. It held a yellow hue that gave off its own light. At first, the color struck Severus as sickly, but then he saw bubbles fizzing within, shooting up through a gold universe of their own making. Suddenly, he saw the happiest days of his childhood as if he were looking at it through a yellow crystal ball. He felt what it was like to run through the woods with his mother and sit with his father, relaxed and amiable, by the fire with his tea. He did have happy memories, he'd just forgotten about them. It was so hard to remember the good times when storms kept destroying his peace. But damn it, happiness lived inside of him too. Yes, there was darkness, there was pain. But there was love.

His body deserved to live. This magic was his to use as he wished.

 _Don't give him that one! He can't have that one._

Constriction pulled on Severus. Urgency pulled on him. His body wanted to breathe.

 _It's a trick._

Trick or no, he wasn't guaranteed the time to figure out how to bring his body up. He cast his eyes on his mother's jars, and removed one for Tom. A benevolent spirit, powerful enough to take up residence in the castle, without having bothered a single student, couldn't be that bad. Maybe he was worthy of this magic. Severus had to remind himself that he was not the judge of worthiness. A service required payment, it was as simple as that, much as he'd demanded payment from James. If this entity could bring his body up, then he'd earned it, simple enough.

At seventeen, he was not the vigilant, wizened agent he would one day become. He handed the bottled magic over to Riddle.

The young man's eyes lit and he smiled graciously. "Truly? I wasn't even going to ask for a whole jar. This is more than I need for my designs."

The boy's relief affected Severus. His obvious joy felt like an alien intrusion against Severus's need to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Very well, my friend. I can't imagine you would like it down here with me. But you've given me the power to go wherever I want, and for that, I am grateful. I will carry you on the current back to the top. My pet will have to knock down some rubble to see you safely to the baths."

It wasn't happening fast enough. He didn't need an explanation, he just wanted to wake up in his breathing body, in the safety of his room. But Riddle's gaze wouldn't let him go. He spoke softly. "I'm going to push on your mind a little. I'm going to push you into a light sleep. You'll feel the water pressing on your body, but whatever you do, don't panic. Just drift to sleep."

Already, Riddle faded and darkness took over. Sleep had him floating on Riddle's voice. "And Severus, when we see each other again, I will remember your generosity. When I am in power, I will reward you for it."

No one made an announcement. The pictures of Snape, the aurors, and all the buzz concerning his disappearance, simply disappeared. James and Remus were the only two, of their four, present between classes when the entire student body came to a halt. Kids and teachers froze collectively, obeying some inner sonar that told them to stop mid-sentence, look down the hall, over the heads of the crowd, and watch it part like the Red Sea. Students stepped backwards to make space for him. They shielded their gasps with their hands, but could not cover their eyes lest they miss the sight of Severus walking among them as if he hadn't been missing for three weeks. He didn't just walk among them, he bounded down the center of the hall, his energy seeming to part other kids out of the way before he reached them. Everyone got out of his way. The speed with which he strode, left them no choice, no room for greetings, and no time to adjust to the shock of seeing him.

Assessing eyes, greedily noted how much paler he was, how much thinner and darker he was in all the right places. He looked past them, not exactly pretending he wasn't the center of curiosity, as much as not giving a damn. His hair and his school robe lifted in the wind that his stride generated. His disregard of them was familiar. Even the voluptuous flourish of his jet black robe, was known to them by now. What was new, was the scowl. What was new, was the injury, etched deep in the tension of his face. His mouth and jaw were held so stiffly under scrutiny, he looked like he was emerging from an insult, ready to retaliate.

Hushed voices waited for him to make his way through the parted crowd. No one missed the way he stopped abruptly at the sight of James and Remus. He lingered long enough to make some unspoken point. Then he was gone. The effect left James and Remus drained of color, and wondering what the hell was going on. The sight of Snape knocked the strength out of them. They fell into their seats in Slughorn's class, completely disregarding instructions. They were not alone in murmurs that rose above Slughorn's lessons. A few students were bold enough to ask when had Snape returned. Slughorn blew them off. "Oh, saw him did you? Albus will be sure to make a little announcement about that."

The comment sickened James. He gave up trying to hear the lesson. Whispers snaked around his head and hissed the worst of his fears out loud, for all the class to hear. He clutched his stomach. Remus saw him jerk before flopping out of his chair and convulsing on the floor. His body ended up under the desk, twitching as Slughorn rushed to find the right ingredients to stop his convulsions.


	15. Glimpsed Curse

A/N: Just a little something. I wanted to give you Severus, but I'm still recovering from those last chapters, that weekend, and all the energy drinks it took to get me through the rest of the week. I think the people around me are starting to suspect that I don't give a damn about anything but fantasy life. It absolutely does not disappoint! On a serious note, I tried to take the night off and not post, but that is somehow more painful than anything I know, now that I know the story. I'm torn between wanting it to hurry up and finish, and wishing it could never end. As soon as it does, I'm just going to want to get started on another one. I'm addicted to the satisfaction. I'm hurting and in need of rest, but addicted. Yes, this was a shameless bid for affection and sympathy. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

James opened his eyes, or tried to, against tacky mucus gluing his lashes together. He should've been staring up into the crimson canopy of his Gryffindor bed, awakening to another day of magic, academic privilege, and friends. Instead, congealed green saline, murky with infection, left him pulling strings of it away, just so that he could see daylight beyond grey darkness. He didn't know if waking up to eyes matted completely closed, was a side-effect of the medicine, or the decline of his body. All he knew was, he was damn tired of it.

That, and sleeping on plant-matter. Cotton pouches of living plant fibers were beneath him and placed between the mattress. They aided his energy, but were hot as hell to sleep on. They generated intense heat during the night, so that he had to sleep nearly naked on top of his covers. His body had wasted so much, he ignored the gagging reactions Sirius and Peter were too slow to hide. Fuck 'em. By dawn, he woke up shivering, and feeling for blankets he couldn't see. This had been going on since his release from the hospital. Having to put so much effort into just opening his eyes, and dreading the way his friends looked at him nowadays, left him bitterly assessing his situation.

They all knew Snape had done something. They all knew Snape shouldn't be alive, shouldn't be walking around the school like he owned it just because they couldn't figure out how he'd survived. Obviously, he hadn't been dead. He'd faked it and swam his way clear, fooling all of them. So what, they'd been fucking exhausted, injured, and messed up on Willow Weed, or whatever the fuck that was. They'd fucked up, so what.

James could live with that. That was fine. Let the bastard have it, then. James would always have him beneath him, thrashing like a bitch in heat. Fair trade. Almost. Whatever Snape had done to him, he felt it killing him. He felt it eating at his life. No bitch was worth that. At least, James had taken Snape to somewhere private, to suffer his humiliation with dignity. There had been no plans to kill him until they had no choice. Now that the Fire Shackle wasn't working, or Snape had found a way around it, he wasn't playing nearly as nice.

He knew Snape would try to kill him, if they'd let him live. Maybe that's why the idea of drowning him was easier to embrace the minute it became feasible. He wasn't scared of Snape. He believed in his own magic and knew he could fight that fucker wand for wand. He knew there was a way out of this, there had to be. With the Ministry backing down, thanks to Dumbledore's protection, all he had to do was figure out what the fuck Snape's curse was and how to break it. If Snape could find a way around the Fire Shackle, he could find a way around this.

They were made to battle each other. They were made to hurt each other. He knew it with every fiber of his being. He'd given Snape seclusion and privacy before unleashing his worst. That bastard couldn't say the same. Snape had given him something so crippling, he'd flopped under his desk in Slughorn's class like a dying fish. He was only going by the accounts of witnesses, and what he alone knew afterwards. He'd crapped his pants and he didn't know if anyone could tell, but they'd all seen the urine leaking out of him. He knew the whole school was talking about it behind his back. Damn if he could live with that, even if his life span was weeks instead of years. He wasn't going out like that. It made him wished that he'd fucked Snape to death instead of drowning him, or at least kept a video so that he could send it to everyone Snape knew before the curse got him.

When thinking like this reached a very unsatisfying end, and James had to get out of bed or risk being late for class, he reached for the first of eight potions that would help him start his day. Three were nutritional supplements, two were anti-seizure, one digestive relaxant, one musculature elixir to help his coordination, and an antibiotic cocktail.

Everybody knew it was a curse. A bad one.

James had made it clear to his parents and to Dumbledore, that he didn't want to die being closed off in some sterile room with bloody beeping monitors and listening to the sound of his last breaths. He wanted to be active, not flat on his back. Ideally, he wanted to take a bludger to the head while playing Quidditch. School was his life. He needed friends now, more than ever. He had begged to return to school. "When I can't stand, when I can't do for myself, I'll come home. Just let me have a few more weeks."

They had relented. His family was still spending a fortune on the services of private healers and spell detectives, outside the practices of traditional magic. No one was convinced a healthy, athletic wizard of seventeen, would suddenly find his organs turning to mush and his white cell count wiped out. His parents also were not blind to their son's penchant for causing trouble for others. What they, affectionately, saw as a winning competitive streak, they knew could be interpreted by outsiders as malicious. They knew James made enemies just as easily as he made friends, and they spared no expense in hiring the best magical specialists to find the dark curse cast upon their son. None found it.

James's life had an expiration date. Fifty pound lighter, in less than three weeks, all he could do was listen as the wizard leading a team of Curse Specialists, told him, "You have less than a month. Your organs are shutting down. Your kidneys are already in renal failure. We can't keep saving them indefinitely."

Mediwizard, Hector Hualo, also specialized in muggle medicine and practiced in both cultures to maximize his capacity to bring magical technology to traditional medicine. What he could not do for his patients using the National Health Service provided to the public, he did for them using discretionary magic. His reputation for prolonging the lives of the cursed, the doomed, and the damned, had the Potters asking for him by name, and paying sums that would erase the debts of those who could not afford to pay for medical care in other parts of the world. That was Hector's terms.

"We've successfully regenerated healthy tissue in you, but within days, your body rejects it. Your metabolism can't keep up with the demands of the spells. You are burning through the energy of your cells. You are literally burning up the structural bonds holding your tissue together. The more we introduce therapeutic magic, the more the molecular integrity disintegrates. Your flesh cannot harness your life-energy if your auric frequencies remain disrupted. It has to deteriorate. That's what holds a person in this world."

James knew, if he were relying on muggle medicine, he'd be dead already.

Hector came from old magic and he'd seen James's case before. To the sixth sight he'd inherited from his grandmother, not X-rays, James's curse tied around him in fat, black bands. The bands were wet and mucus drenched. They attached themselves to his aura, suction style, and behaved like enzyme secretioners. They literally looked like wet, shiny black worms breaking down the various frequencies comprising James's life spectrum. The shamans from his grandmother's day would've called them demons. They were digesting the auric barrier that circulated James's energy, destroying his connection to his physical body.

Once Hector saw that the bands ran beyond the first four levels of the body, he knew there was no point in allowing James' to think his symptoms could be healed. Beyond that, were decisions of the soul, which were quite beyond his specialization. He didn't lie to the family. He didn't let them think he could save their son.

"The best I can do is put him on a plant regimen that subsidizes the life-force he is loosing. It may slow the process down by giving the attachments something else to feed on. I have no way of repairing his energy protection and the attachments digesting it cannot be removed without killing him." He added, after James's parents had left them in the room together, "Whomever you have offended, they hold your life in their hands."

James winced, then stared at him bitterly. He could not go any more pale than he already was.

Hector was careful not to push. He stated his real assessment in the kindest way he knew how. "If I were you, I'd consider making amends."

He didn't wait for a reply, he knew he would get none. The boy was too indignant, too young, and too cushioned by his parents to bow to good advice. This was why Hector was able to maintain his even stare against his patient's gaunt cheeks and yellow skin. He wanted the boy to be well, but he didn't feel sorry for him. Those were two different things. He could tell that at one time, even recently, the boy had been handsome and athletic. But now, the subcutaneous layer above his muscles had lost the fat that kept a person's face full and colored. Without it, his skin clung to shrunken muscle fiber like the walls of a vacuum packed plastic bag. Advanced cataracts had bleached one pupil entirely and were working their way across the other one. He would not get back his vision, but what remained could be amplified for safety. All this, aside from the GI issues and a host of little creatures deciding to live on James's skin now that it could no longer defend itself.

Yes, the boy was tragic. But no one comes to this without being given a multitude of turn-back signs and warnings. He must've meddled with determination, against the warning.

A seventeen year-old should not have to wear a cap to cover the lesions that were winning the battle of replacing his hair. He should not have four different cancers crumbling the marrow in his bones or eating the walls of his stomach. He should not have bacterial rashes erupting in white, pasty infection just because his body could no longer produce the T-cells to fight them off. Everything wrong with him, every mutated cell division and parasite, lay dormant in everyone's body at every second of the day. But the certainty of one's life-force maintained equilibrium and kept those potentials from being a threat. Whoever had done this to James, had gone through death's door to destroy the certainty of James's life. Whoever would risk doing that, was not going to accept an apology. Whatever the boy had done, he'd done it to the wrong person and the curse itself showed that there was not an apology possible to quench his attacker's vengeance. The best he could do for James, was prepare him and his family for the inevitable.

"At this rate, you have less than a month. If our treatment works, this may buy you more time. I would not presume to get your hopes up. The best we can do is fit you with a dialysis filter. We'll show you how to change it out. It's not a solution, but it will clean waste from your blood without tying you to the hospital. We can save what's left of your sight by connecting the optic nerves with a chip. Muggles have no idea the advances we've made with that technology. And the family of Sertulariidae, an air fern bred for feeding malignant attachments, so they don't feed on your life-force, will have to be trial tested on you, to see which you respond to better. We'll know it's working when your T-cells are back and you start to fight off some of these infections. Again, that doesn't remove the curse. If it works, it buys you a little time. The worm-like attachments around you are aggressive. No doubt they'll adapt to whatever we try."

As it turns out, the air ferns were living plants that didn't need water. They were prescribed in packets of proprietary recipes of mineral stones. They generated tiny auric fields of their own and acted like a natural battery source. He would have to pin an assortment of them to his clothing, keep them in his living environment, and change them out for recharging, if he hoped to stay on his feet.

The thing about lying on your back dying is, you remember things you've forgotten. Things you dismissed because so much was going on, or maybe you were high on whatever Remus and Snape were making. When the things you regret weren't freaking you out, the things you got right, gave you some satisfaction. Like how you really fucked Snaped right in his bloody soul and you owned that place inside of him. No matter what happened, there would always be an eternal recording of all that black hair thrashing because you were making him feel you. He couldn't ignore you. Maybe, a slow death was worth that.

James remembered the strength his body had felt. Snape's fight only seemed to generate more power inside of him. He remembered almost wanting Snape to fight harder so that he could feel himself grow stronger. It had been a weird, magical symbiosis, just like he knew it would be. Even if weird things happened.

Wait. Something had happened. He'd left the room. It had felt so good, he talked to the magic. He asked for more. It took him, it showed him things. He'd even seen a totally different Snape.

He sat up. His head swam with the sharp elevation.

Another Snape. That was real. That had been real!

That was the thing about visions. They were real enough when they were happening, but when compared to normal events, they lost all credibility. Only the normal stuff got accepted by the brain, and all that other shit got thrown out. But… it felt important.

He was on the verge of letting it slip a way like a dream that he wasn't willing to work that hard to remember, when he saw Snape's wand aim at him, lifting his cheek off the bone. That's how it happened. Snape hadn't had a wand.

There had been two of them. Helpless Snape and powerful Snape. The body and the soul.

In an instant, James's mind exploded back into that moment. It reopened for him, allowing him to glimpse things he couldn't possibly piece together. Snape's beautiful black robes, gold circles and chimes floating above James's head, velvet sofas and watery floors. There were lights behind his shoulders. Individual lights, as if someone had bottled them. Potions? That other Snape had wheels around him that moved with his body. Then…

Then he'd looked back and saw another James. Another him. He saw physical-James and physical-Snape and they were pumping the energy around them, making it go higher and higher until…

Until Snape slashed his face. He'd had to deal with that, but then he got back to it. He didn't let go. He got right back to that world where something opened up. Something happened. This massive hole opened up above them. Massive. How had he forgotten that!

You didn't forget, he told himself. It didn't fit in with anything real, so you threw it out. It happened. It _happened!_

That was the curse! What else could it be? Something immense came down from that hole. It was like the Universe opened up and just shot down something indescribable. Hidden behind sexual bliss, nobody would notice a curse like that. Nobody.

As James lay there missing class, his mind rehearsed using his illness as an excuse. At the same time, he took inventory of everything he remembered from ramming into Snape. By the time he'd dressed, all he wanted to do was get to the library and research bottled curses, jar magic, and stealing a person's soul. He didn't expect to find much outside the restricted section, so he was already making plans to use his cloak later.

Somehow, Snape had used wandless magic to rip James's life-essence and trap it in a jar. That's why he was sick and getting sicker. That's why all of them were sick, except Remus. Remus was the only one who had asked permission, like a fucking weakling. He went missing for hours, but he wasn't exhibiting the sicknesses the rest of them were. That was the curse. Snape had their lives in jars.

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	16. Hindsight

Severus knew he'd have to face the gossip eventually. At dinner, he'd felt innumerable stares heating the back of his head. His housemates, expressly forbidden by Dumbledore to accost him concerning his disappearance, let him know they deserved some explanation. They did care about one of their own going missing, after all. No one put it into words, but then, a Slytherin knew how to express such scorn with an air of frigid indifference. This was how his housemates treated him until he joined them in the common room and let them corner him with questions. None of which, he answered specifically.

He looked at them with the first stirrings of diplomacy. He needed them to proceed with their lives as normal, not to make him feel even more uncomfortable than he already did. He told them, exactly as he'd rehearsed, "I spent the Yule break with four Gryffindors and I paid for it. We tried to play nice. They were complete asses and I left them." That's that.

He didn't have to tell them how James was, but they took issue with the lack of details. He gave Crabbe and Goyle the humility they seemed to be searching his face for. "Frankly, it was embarrassing. You couldn't hold an intelligent discussion with Potter if it were a book titled, _Intelligent Discussion_. I had to get out of there. I had to bury my father's ashes and see to my home. I hadn't expected to stay as long as I did. I'd been away two years, I took my time coming back. I wasn't sure I wanted to. I'm allowed a crises."

"But three weeks?" Goyle asked.

Severus caught the way Lucius looked down, knowing full well that it hadn't been three weeks.

"I only missed a few days," he confided to them. "No one is supposed to know that."

They were his housemates and suspicious by nature. He had to give them something to make them feel they were privileged to know more than others about the situation. "The Headmaster and the Minister knew that I was here. They were having me checked out and making sure I wasn't so unstable that I couldn't be trusted around the student body. While the investigation went on, I was allowed other quarters."

"Like a safe-house," Lucius determined. "I bet they wanted the Gryffs to crack under pressure. Some of us thought you were dead."

Instead of feeding his suspicions, Severus concluded. "There's your big mystery. It isn't worth the breath being wasted on gossip. It isn't worth the salaries being paid to Ministry aurors. It's that pathetic, so please stop acting like my silence is betraying you and giving me cold Slytherin eyes. It's bad enough that I'm not graduating, must my housemates turn against me as well?"

Severus, other than making huge eyes when he'd wanted baked treats from his mother, had never been motivated to manipulate another person's emotions. He'd had no reason to. But as the faces before him changed from smoldering aggressiveness to embarrassed pity, new possibilities leapt into his mind. Some of his housemates even averted their eyes, as if handing him back dignity wrongfully taken from him in the first place. Could it be that he had a knack for deflection? Solitary study would've left him oblivious of this ability. Funny how new needs brought about new skills. He only hoped this was as far into any public and social arena he'd have to go, to dig himself out of trouble. He wasn't accustomed to having to answer to his peers. But then, it was almost nice that they cared enough about him to get mad at him for not talking about it.

He could tell by the way they shuffled away, leaving him to his space, that they'd feel themselves sufficiently armed with the most accurate information to smack down slander from any of the other houses. At least, he hoped, and left it at that. If other kids in other houses wanted to know what happened to him, he'd just proliferated the only "real story" any of them were ever going to know. It should spread to the entire school within two days and he'd never have to say another word about it.

That took care of his housemates. His teachers were another matter. One would think Dumbledore to have sat everyone down and said, 'Don't make a fuss. We mustn't alienate a student formerly presumed missing.' Everyone got the owl, it seems, except for Trelawney. It was the first class, of the first day of his new schedule. He had no more entered the room than she stumbled back, clutching her thin bosom through her blouse and a jangle of assorted crystals and necklaces.

A shriek only added to her dramatics, and had Severus assessing her use of psychotropic potions to enhance her abilities. Students poured in around them, taking seats and dismissing her antics as part of a stage persona past its prime. They were used to her eccentrics, and many of them still liked her in spite of it. If she couldn't tell it was off-putting at her age, then it must've been something she truly couldn't help.

Hair flying, her peeling lips trembled beneath the magnifying glasses sitting above her nose. She stuttered with deep vocal resonance. "Oh, my boy! Look at you."

Severus, as well as the students shuffling by him, looked the length of himself.

"What have you done?" Her hand crept to her mouth. For a second, she produced only wordless gasps like a fish, before she produced anything that made sense. " My dear, are you quite certain you're all right? That looks dreadfully painful. How on earth did you manage it?"

Her alarm had him unwilling to ask what she was talking about.

Divination was not Severus's favorite subject, but since he was no stranger to occasional visions, he'd decided to be fair about what it could teach him. As morning classes go, it replaced Potions and gave him a reason to leave his room a half-hour earlier than normal, if he wanted to have breakfast and still make it on time. Lucky for him, he didn't need breakfast, so he used the time to work on his runes and avoid the side glances of students pointing and talking about him.

As she stared at him, she was beginning to make him regret his change of schedule. "You have highly irregular auras. Why, there are two. That sort of thing isn't a common sight for a young man."

His mouth fell open and he took a step back.

Confusion appeared to right itself on her face as he did so. "Oh, my word. I've forgotten that quickly."

She slapped her head and gave him lots of teeth with her apologetic smile. "Yes, Severus, you recently went away, but now you're back. I'm so silly. Think nothing of me. I just… see things. No need to explain. Please, take your seat."

It was all he could do to sit down without drawing more attention to himself. If he'd turned on his heels and left, the insult to her would raise more questions and leave her outburst lingering in everyone's minds longer. He sat down, but the way her eyes kept sliding to him, drinking him through her thick lenses, had him inching for the door.

That had taken place a few days ago, at the completion of his and Dumbledore's agreement. He managed to set things right with his teachers, eat a few good meals, and prove to everyone that he was competent to function on his own. In doing so, he wrangled a few days to really apperate home and bury his father's damn ashes like he said he had. That lie was eating at him. Security features gave Dumbledore the confidence he would return exactly when expected.

After two years of standing empty, the house had held up nicely, under his mother's maintenance and preservation spells. Severus only noticed one weak area at the back of the house. There, a rotten board had let in rain water and part of the wall and floor had gone soft. With his new wand, he charmed the leak sealed, and cleaned the mess, but made a note to replace the wood proper, after graduation. The wand was a better match than he'd thought, but he hadn't given up on getting his original back. In fact, he was looking forward to how it would find its way back to him. As for the house, he didn't like to think of it barely holding together with neglected materials, so he would make a point to make repairs with fresh materials before overlaying them with the necessary wards and charms. It struck him how very Tobias it was, to insist on sturdy materials before reinforcing them with magic. He was truly a hybrid of both parents.

It had taken two years for him to even be able to look at what was waiting on him, what he'd inherited. Emptiness. He wasn't going to make it worse by pretending he could ignore decay. And after what he'd been through with James, an empty, decrepit house, actually felt like relief. It gave him something to work on. He just had to ignore the compulsion to see his mum coming from her room in her robe and slippers, or bustling in the kitchen. He'd have to tell himself not to look at his father having tea by the fire because it wasn't real. That's what muggles meant when they said you can never go back home. The house might still be there, but what made it home, isn't. He was on his own now.

His first priority was making it fit for a few nights' stay. Once he'd used a general cleaning charm on the whole house, then more thorough ones in the main rooms, he felt he'd cleared enough baggage to sit down and rest with a cup of tea. That was a mistake. He had no more relieved his legs of their burden before the slip-knot of tension loosened on his mind as well as his muscles. When the tears came, he couldn't stop them. He realized, from their force, that he shouldn't try. If he didn't let his anger have its way, he would end up destroying the kitchen, the dining room, and all of his repair, just for the sheer release of seeing something explode. He needed to see things smashed and destroyed, he was just too exhausted to do it. Too defeated. Not by what James had done to him, but by what he'd done to himself. He hadn't come home to bury his father's ashes. That was the story he'd fed Dumbledore and he had to stick to it. The only thing that could possibly make his arrival as welcoming as it was, was the need to get away from a far more troubling development than James.

He knew that Dumbledore knew he was lying about something. Dumbledore knew that he knew. Severus knew that it wasn't normal for students to be allowed to apperate home, and that he'd used up his bereavement allowance weeks ago. He should've been disciplined to the fullest extent of Dumbledore's ability, for missing classes and withholding all that he knew. But then, he also should've been in Azkaban for murder. There was no going back. He couldn't fathom why Dumbledore seemed to be protecting him, making allowances for him. Having top marks had its limits. No, that old man wanted something from him. That old man wanted Severus in his debt.

James's death was imminent. That was as it should be. All was going well with that part of things. But between the Ministry's interrogation, Dumbledore's cryptic double meanings, and trying to regroup his wits after allowing so much chaos, Severus had to admit that maybe he'd made a mistake. Just because he felt incredible surges of magic, just because the witches were backing him, didn't mean he could do anything he wanted. It didn't mean he could ignore his own limitations. If the ordeal that had taken place in that inn room, was really over, then why did he still feel it? Why couldn't he spell himself not to feel it, not to care, instead of having their hands and hot breath coming at him from every angle?

He couldn't look up at the sky without it being overlaid with some detail too obscene to shake off. He certainly couldn't curl up in any kind of comfort and succumb to carefree sleep. He felt the boys more when he lay down. So for days after being released by Pomfrey, he'd hid in places so remote and closed off in the castle, so that no one could question his blank stare and avoidance. No one could worry over the way his confused body could neither sit still properly or relax properly. He hid himself inside the walls till this fit of nerves subsided enough to answer Dumbledore's summons.

The first two days of his return were a secret, known only to Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey, and his housemate, Lucius Malfoy. It was Lucius who found him, soaking wet, on top of his bed covers. At that point, the worst of his injuries were just beginning their mending, and he had no idea he was moaning out loud in wet clothes. The witches helped with his broken ribs, but encouraged the minor wounds to heal on their own. He felt cheated. Were they on some kind of magical budget? Exactly how did they decide how much help they would give him? Their unknown motives had him recoiling from their presence, but he knew he needed them. Moments of helplessness had him suspecting they had deliberately brought him to a place where he had to rely on their help. For that, he shut them out.

He remembered crawling along gritty bathroom tiles. His ribs wouldn't let him stand. He kept waking up a few feet closer to the corridor, but it seemed to take all night to pass through it. If he'd had the proper clarity and focus, he could've achieved an incantation to speed his own healing and lessen the pain, even without a wand. He also kept a number of first-aid, painkilling potions in his room. Experience with James had taught him to be prepared. But he couldn't even hold his head up, let alone master the concentration he needed.

He had no memory of navigating the stairs or falling onto his bed. He'd been grateful to Lucius for the foresight to cast a concealment charm over him and go straight to Dumbledore before any of the other housemates could see him. Lucius said he tried to rouse him and talk to him, but could not. Slytherin instincts always leaned towards discretion, especially if something didn't look right, rather than sounding any alarm.

Mercifully, Severus had not had to beg Dumbledore for the time he needed to pull himself together. If he'd had to beg, James might've won. Severus's pride could not, currently, withstand the blow of a feather. It didn't take a trip to the bathroom, to confront him with the truth of his mistake. The sinking illness of living with strangeness between his legs, went everywhere he went. Shame, at first held off by a sense of vengeance, was seeping in good and wet now. At almost two weeks, he still looked down and saw things missing. He saw things wrong. He told himself he wasn't his body, he was more than his body, so this was nothing, and it was all going to correct itself anyway. A few times, he gave into the fear and begged the witches to change his body back. They told him to wait, that would change back. He tried to be patient with that, but every trip to the bathroom, every thought on it, had tears flowing that wouldn't stop. He was in no fit state to sit in a classroom, and he had allowed this. _Allowed_ it.

Bulletproof armor had given him the strength to make that decision. Now that he had made it, the armor had become human skin again. Magic had given him leprechaun gold, and left him with nothing.

At the other end of it, when calmed, he remembered why he did it. He remembered that he'd been led to believe it was temporary, and that had made his course of action a reasonable gamble. Reasonable. Gamble.

Fighting had given him an anesthetized effect. Now that he wasn't fighting, he just plain hurt down there. Something felt wrong. More wrong than the obvious wrong. He'd used his excuse from class to research, not to rest. He'd scoured texts on the female anatomy and medical issues, in an effort to diagnose himself. He also considered reading up on curses gone wrong, but the witches insisted that nothing was wrong.

 _You should not fill your head with that information. You are scaring yourself. This is merely panic, now that your body can do so safely. It has caught up with you._

Maybe they were right. Now that he wasn't locked in a room with four loathsome boys, maybe he was just reacting properly to everything that had happened. His body had changed. His brain was bound to interpret this traumatically and sound an alarm throughout his whole nervous system. It would alter his perception until he got it under control. People who lost fingers went into shock over it. He could expect some difficulty with his own situation.

It's just that, it was something he'd overheard Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey say when they thought he'd been asleep. He'd been allowed a private room in the infirmary, for two days off the record, before the Headmaster saw fit to notify the Ministry. Pomfrey's wand scan revealed injuries he couldn't hide from her. Her tonics forced sedation upon him.

"There is no hiding this. It will raise more questions if they see healing traces or concealment of any kind. Auror Stapleton is sticking to his case like he's proving a point. They're going to insist on examining him. Better to let him heal on his own."

"That's okay, Poppy. I want him resting, anyway. The Ministry will just have to come to it's own conclusions."

"And if they look at his thoughts?"

"I'm afraid those are unreliable. They won't understand what they see without the proper filters. Severus does not think in linear terms. He can't. He processes information coming from multiple levels of his being. I tested him myself, when he first entered the school. While most people, working with average magic, adopt a rationale that lets them perceive along seamless images and memories, Severus pulls in unconscious knowledge of everything around him. I think his solitude is largely due to processing sums of information most are unaccustomed to. Socially, it is a handicap that keeps him from relating to others and they to him."

"This is utterly wrong, Albus. I've seen students in bad shape, due to their own stupidity, but crimes of this nature are too advanced for seventeen year-olds. Something has gone wrong."

"Nothing has gone wrong. Don't underestimate the young adults that this school churns out. This infirmary sees their unwise choices, but I see their untapped brilliance. There was no other way. Eileen Prince insisted on having a son to please her husband. Her mother's coven had groomed her to bring forth a powerful witch. Instead, she married a muggle outside of their circle. Had she borne the female child natural to the two, none of this would've been necessary. But the child would've had no magic, and we would not have a wizard capable of standing up to the obstacles ahead. We can only divine so much beyond the reasoning of the world. The genius of Creation is incomprehensible to us. Thank goodness Eileen was so very willful. And thank goodness her son is as well."

"But Albus, he can't do this alone. A boy is not prepared. You should let me talk to him. I can guide him through the worst of it. That is the least anyone would do for our female students."

"I understand your concern, Poppy. These children are like your own, and you must protect your emotions from their fate. You stand where you stand because your skill, and your discretion, are invaluable. We must let Severus hone his instincts. We will need those same later."

"Why should he help us, if he remembers that we did not help him?"

"By then, he will see that we could not. If you attempt to tell him what's really happening, we will lose him again. His mind is not ready to face his entire purpose in one conversation. No one's is. Let his body tell him what to do, Poppy. His every cell is encoded with his mother's knowledge. If he doesn't suffer enough to pull it into his conscious mind, he will not find his own answers. Let him accomplish that, then he will need you. Then you can help him. But the act must be by his own hand, and his own choice."

"You ask too much of your students."

"On the contrary. I merely officiate the programs that students themselves have asked to participate in. The most innocent face among them, is an old soul, arrogant with vitality that keeps coming back for more."

So what did he have to do with his own hands? Dumbledore certainly wanted something from him. The gift of secrecy, of being allowed to slip out of the school, felt almost like a courtship, as if the Headmaster had to charm him. It was blatant, special treatment. No student got away with this much gross disregard for rules and policies. Not ever. Not even, otherwise exemplary, students. There had to be a catch. But Severus had needed this time to himself so badly, he didn't want to hear the reasons why Dumbledore was letting him do it. Whatever those reasons were, he was sure he wouldn't like them. If he was being protected from expulsion, that meant Dumbledore was breaking even more rules, not to turn him in to the Ministry. Anything that could cause someone as established as Dumbledore, to put himself in the path of professional indictment, could not bode well for Severus.

But honestly, as much as the thought of expulsion and hiding the facts from the Ministry, sickened him, he felt that he could set his life right again. He just had to get past whatever aftershock of insanity he was facing at the moment. He would achieve order, for there was nothing without it.

He'd overheard Dumbledore and Auror Stapleton. He'd been allowed to. Dumbledore had summoned him and asked him to wait in a smaller sitting room off from his office. Severus recognized the auror from being questioned at the Ministry, undergoing a follow up medical exam, and being questioned again. Until then, he had never seen him before. Auror Stapleton strode in with a former athlete's confidence, but a middle-aged wizard's soft girth. He probably wasn't fifty, but close to it. Limp brown hair hung over his forehead and flopped with each turn of his head. It gave one the impression that he used this preserved feature the way an angler fish used its built-in lure. It caught the attention of ladies, but it also caught people off guard for seconds long enough to let the auror catch them with their defenses down.

Stapleton got down to business. "We want to try a different grade of truth serum. His reaction to Veritaserum only botched matters for everyone."

Severus remembered vomiting as soon as the liquid had hit his tonsils. He'd sat in a small medical room wearing a gown and disassociating himself from a battery of tests and questions. His head-down silence, was his way of protecting what he knew. Vomiting in front of others, even medical wizards, should've left him feeling some embarrassment. When it didn't, he knew he'd successfully submerged a part of himself in his secrets. He hadn't gotten sick on purpose, it just seemed to be a reflex, as if his body had its own natural defense against ingesting something that could betray him. He couldn't swallow it and Dumbledore had argued that forcing it upon him put his health at risk. He was obviously exhibiting what they were calling an allergic reaction. At the time, they had no choice but to drop it.

"Our findings are inconclusive. We want to bring the boy back in. His memories are scrambled, even to our Seers. The complication this adds, is suspicious in and of itself. You'll understand why it's in his best interest to cooperate."

"If you're alluding to the historical fact of wizard's, whose thoughts and pensieve memories, do not tell a neat narrative for others to view, becoming blacklisted within the Ministry's files of suspected Dark Wizards, I will remind you that he's still a student. The law still protects him from that bias. He has endured your standard inquiry, Auror, surely that is enough. Even if he were hiding something, how much of your time do you think a seventeen year-old's shenanigans are worth to the Ministry? Keep in mind that all five of the boys are now safely returned to school, in spite of their eventful Yule break."

Stapleton let his shoulders drop. "Play it down all you want. Things don't add up. We both know this is an advanced student. I've seen his scores, talked to the other teachers, and gone over the Ministry's tests again and again. Shenanigans do not interest him in the least. His applications for the six most prestigious Apocathary institutions in all of Europe, have all been accepted and they are competing for his apprenticeship. No student working that hard, is going to stray into juvenile activity, let alone criminal consequences."

"I agree, but what else are we to conclude? Severus admits that he left with the boys and abandoned them of his own free will."

Dumbledore had crossed to his desk and sat down, leaving Stapleton to close the large distance between them.

"The scan we performed indicates significant trauma and concealment charms. This boy is not in the clear just because he decided to leave school on his own."

"Severus is grieving, Stapleton, and recovering from illness. Now that he has turned up, of his own volition, I should think he'd be allowed the privacy he needs."

"This isn't about privacy. He's clearly hiding something, and the more you argue for him, the more I suspect you are as well."

"You are correct. I am hiding him from your administerial sledgehammer. He has been through quite enough. Your reports, themselves, confirm his physical trauma. Why do you think his mind would be so unaffected as to allow him to speak freely of it at this point?"

Stapleton bent down over the desk.

"Not only has this young man been afflicted with a gender altering curse, but he has sustained injuries of a sexual nature. There is bruising and damage which indicates brutal duration and degree. He obviously ran away from school because he was attacked. This information reveals much more to this case. I want to interview the other boys again. They all have a history. If it is determined that the attack took place on school grounds, the Minister will have your resignation."

"Speak to all five of the boys as much as you want. Severus backs up their story. Whether he is lying, or whether any of them are lying, none of us can prove that their activities were not consensual. They took great care to arrange their absence and Severus went willingly. We can punish their rule-breaking, but we have no jurisdiction over their inclinations as young adults."

"You don't seem surprised that a sexual element would crop up in this investigation."

"Look at my beard, Auror Stapleton. I've been around a long time. I've seen a lot. I do not pretend that seventeen year-olds do not have a sexuality. As you know, when Severus parted ways with James and the others, he went home to bury his father's ashes. His advanced status has afforded him his license to apperate or to choose any other discretion that any adult might choose. Five boys miss school. One of them is found to be severely afflicted with a sex-altering spell. It sounds like mischief gone horribly wrong, to me. Planned, but wrong. I don't suppose any of the boys are going to rise above their shame to speak of it any time soon."

"I refuse to believe that a boy of seventeen would choose such injuries, not to mention the curse itself."

"I'm not saying he chose those results, merely the actions that he did not have the foresight to see leading up to them. Clearly, all the boys are hiding something. Especially, Severus. But don't you think, given his physical injuries, that his dignity stands to lose the most? Of course he's going to want to keep his secrets. He's humiliated enough that whatever happened got so far out of hand, let alone that others know what was done to him. All that on top of his father's death. I want to know what happened to him as much as you do, but I know a precarious balance between grief and despair when I see one. I would not sacrifice Severus's dignity just to prove they were all up to no good. Especially when Severus's story only supports theirs."

"Why is he protecting them?"

"Why, indeed. He's protecting himself first. That's one of the questions I hope to answer as I give him time to recover from this entire ordeal. I know Severus, we will get nothing out of him by backing him against the wall. It's trust, or nothing at all with him. And that comes with time."

"Meanwhile, how many other students will be subjected to the criminal malice loose in this school?"

"None at all. I promise you."

Dumbledore was able to get rid of Stapleton, and give Severus a glimpse at how the adults were viewing his story. It told him how to proceed as far as they were concerned. Keep his head down when anyone tried to get him to talk about his body. Even the most ball-breaking auror didn't have the right to force a so-called victim, a kid, to talk about his privates in any legal capacity. Either the young witch or wizard could do it, or they couldn't.

He couldn't hide his shame, but he could confuse the reasons why he felt it. Don't give the other students any reason to doubt that he was whole, male, and not going to take any of their rumor stirring shite. Only five people knew what had happened in that room. And by the end of the month, one would be dead, and three incapable of human speech.

Dumbledore had been astonishingly gentle, even for him. "Take another week to rest. I can't let you go home till I see you restored. That means eating and attending classes. Talk to your teachers about what you will have to do to correct matters. I will have personal monitoring charms on you for a while yet. You can change your schedule so that your classes do not intersect with James's and the other boys. Show me two weeks of vast, consistent improvement, and I'll let you take a few days to bury your father's ashes. I must have your word that you'll come right back. I had to deny your graduation attendance for administerial record. But because of your N. 's., you can make an appeal that involves extra work and voluntary service to the school, as a disciplinary atonement. James and his peers cannot say the same."

Severus had lifted his head and dared to look Dumbledore in his eyes. "Why are you being so easy about this? I should be under the school, not on top of it."

"I have my reasons, Severus. As did you. I understand that I failed you. Had I taken your pleas to keep James Potter away from you, more seriously, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. On parchment, you are in the wrong. But in truth, I was in the wrong. Consider the privileges I give you, hard won. Take them, for the school has need of your trust. I will use whatever pull I have to get you back here in good standing."

Before he started telling lies about it, he'd had no intention of burying his father's ashes. He would not honor the man who killed his mother. He planned on tossing them in the garbage, but Hogwart detection would've alerted the elves to human remains and ruined his plans. Every time he saw a trash bin and thought of it, his father's stubborn disposition sidled next to him. His lies had given him no choice but to bury the ashes and make good on his promise to Dumbledore. Tobias had been a person who needed stability. He wanted to be buried. He wanted to rest on his property. Unlike his mother, who practically sang in his ear the day he'd strewn her ashes over a meadow of wildflowers. He'd felt her. Saw her hair lift in the breeze.

His heart hiccuped on the idea of wishing they could be buried together, as if both urns next to each other would somehow restore their marriage and their lives. Even if he could, he would not dishonor his mother's memory that way. She'd given the man her earthly years, she didn't have to give him anything more. All debts were paid.

He buried the urn in the backyard, just to be done with it. The shrub he'd planted it beneath, was simply to cover the profaned ground with something more innocent and appealing. It had nothing to do with the fact that every spring, the shrub would get white blossoms that lasted exactly two weeks. For two weeks, Tobias would become a part of something innocent and magic and beautiful. It could not make up for a lifetime of bitterness, but it was there if his spirit wanted it. He was done trying to heal the both of them.

He'd started to use his wand to remove a suitable amount of hard dirt, but felt nagged by Tobias to do him this last bit of respect and dig proper, with a shovel. Oh, damn! He wanted to scream, "This is the last time I do anything for you. I hate you, old man. You have no right to ask this of me!"

He knew his voice was carrying over the garden wall, to neighbors who still expected the house to be empty. He didn't care. He cared even less when he fell to his knees and began ripping brown grass and dirt with his hands. "Is this better? I have no intention of going inside that spider-infested shed right now, just to find a rusty shovel to please you. I have magic and I'm going to use it."

He knew his words didn't make sense. Neither did the tears falling on the backs of his hands. He knew what was happening. It was all coming out still. He let it. He cried and ripped the earth apart, angry at himself for crying again. "These aren't your tears," he told his father. "These are for me, not you. Don't flatter yourself."

When he'd worked up a good heat and sweat, he thought the blood he saw was from raking his fingers raw. He needed the pain to empty himself with, so he made it hurt and he made it bloodier. He had never succumbed to the muggle disorder of cutting one's self, till now. It took the pain from inside, and let it out. But he noticed more blood than he was comfortable with and stopped. He saw jagged pieces pointing out of the ground, shiny with his blood. He hadn't been losing skin to rocky soil, but to actual glass. Stupid!

He made sure he could still move all his digits before pumping water over his injuries. He took a few minutes to wrap his hands and calm as he incantated the worst of the cuts to clot. He sat beside the pump, head lowered, frowning in the aftermath of his tantrum. Then his head shot up. He scrambled to the chopped hole in the ground and carefully removed as many shards as he could find. He assembled them with his wand and found the jar showing minimal cracks as it stood in one piece. String fibers clung to the crusty insides. They had rotted long ago, and when Severus tried to discern the shape of their lingering energy, he saw knitted booties.

Suddenly, Trelawney's hysterics came back to him. "My dear, are you quite certain you're all right? You have highly irregular auras. Why, there are two. That sort of thing isn't a common sight for a young man."

She had been so flustered, all perm and arms flailing in the wake of her divine prophecies, one had to process her words separately from her displays if they wanted to hear anything she was saying.

His father had told him he'd counted eight jars, then found others. They couldn't all have been his mother's. But neither could magic be quantifiable. One life might process three jars or less than a whole one. He couldn't be sure. But now he was sure of one thing. Whatever his mother did to stop the process, he wasn't going to find it in any of the books in his house. Those books would've been taboo. And she would've learned the process before marrying. If she belonged to a coven, her elders would've seen to it.

Trelawney's reaction had been diagnosis enough. He'd even seen it. The yellow-gold jar. New. Alive. Waiting. Put there when James held him against the wall. His curse went up, but something else had come down. Something bigger than James's life-force. Bigger than both of them. That's how life begins.

He reeled in the overgrown yard. Dead, neglected vegetation, bristled in winter's grip. He stripped it, tore it, and crushed it under his heels. The weight of realization sent him down beside the pump again, before rocking on the cold ground. He was grateful the wall hid him from curious eyes. He thrashed against the intrusion of knowledge and punched the earth with his fist.

He saw Trelawney's horrified expression aimed at him. He heard her apologize, taking it back, repeatedly. Pure knowing sank in his stomach like a bag of rocks. It held him to the ground, where everything in his vision went fuzzy and wet and distorted. He wasn't going to put it to words. He wasn't going to admit it out loud. He wasn't even going to face how the witches had betrayed him. Surely, not even they were that cruel.

He withered under the certainty that he would need them. Really need them. There was not a midwife in existence he could discreetly turn to, the way others might turn to. That trust, that solution was utterly denied to him. Absently, he threw his father's urn in the hole and pushed the dirt back in. His arms shook through it all. They shook long after he sat on the ground, feeling the cold and damp of evening seep into them. They shook as he drug himself back into the kitchen, intending to at least go through his mother's personal collection of books. If he didn't find what he needed there, he'd go to Knockturn Alley. He'd find the right dealer. Someone had to have old information like that. He needed her spell, or a comparable one. He needed to get this thing out of him. He knew it was James's. He knew it was James's because that was the worst thing that could possibly happen. He just knew.


	17. Blue Glass

In the end, Severus bowed his head and steadied himself to ask for help. He didn't feel he could turn to any midwife that he knew might still be around, and might still know the old ways. Neither did he really want to risk tainted botchery from the ill repute of Nocturne Alley. Those had just been his first desperate thoughts, for Nocturne Alley is where desperate people go. Flourish and Blotts would have modern journals on the spells used by mediwizards of today. Any witch, unlucky enough to have missed being educated on the matter, had places she could turn to. Legal, medical places enlightened enough to help with such a dilemma. This wasn't his father's world, where it all had to be hushed and unconscionable. Or, it was, but Severus had one foot in it and one foot out. As far a he was concerned, he was back in the dark ages, and the prospect of explaining his situation to any mediwizard, confidential or not, was not going to happen.

He'd had to tear up his mother's room, going so far as to lift the loose floorboards in her knitting corner, to find anything useful. He'd found runes, letters, handwritten spells, and herbal sachets of lilac and sage. No books. No books retained from her family library when she'd had access to it. Surely, judging from the severe precision of script, the sharp angle of vocabulary, and the sheer arrogance of lengthy judgement passive-aggressively wishing Eileen's firstborn a happy fifth birthday, her family must've had a great library and resources. Coins, sliding along the bottom of the envelope, only made him angry and amused at the same time, by his mother's stubborn refusal to use them. She'd probably kept them as admission and proof of her parent's guilt for disinheriting her. It was as much proof that their love had once existed, as it was of that same unreliability.

He found what he needed in her cedar chest. Two books. The books were hidden beneath blankets and quilting projects. They were held together by dry rotted rubber bands that broke upon removal. Yellowed pages cracked when he opened them, and fell out. They were not books on the personal remedy he wanted, but they were of a deeper study than what had been allowed out in the open. They were texts regarding necromancy and various ways to summon master teachers, ancient gods, and even living people one otherwise had no access to. The books reminded him that he could summon the help he needed. The authorship of the texts had gone missing with the covers, so he couldn't gauge the credibility by the name. He had only the fact that his mother deliberately concealed them, to merit their usefulness.

The next step was deciding what or who he wanted to summon. He was too old not to know that you don't contact unknown worlds just because you want to. And you certainly don't open a door unless you knew what you were doing. Pure ignorance could come through. Pure deception. Or something that didn't want to leave. There were spells in the books that told how to avoid all of that, but Severus still didn't like resorting to them. He didn't like being at their mercy. The idea of digging the jar back up and reverse-engineering his mother's spell, seemed even more fraught with uncertainty. Since actual lives were involved, he wouldn't want to upset whatever balance had been put into place. It might not have been possible for one of the unborn to come back - he didn't know - but his magic was tied to them and that didn't seem right to disturb what his mother had put to rest. All he needed was to start hearing the ghosts of crying babies screaming in his head.

To steady himself, he made tea and drank it while sitting on the stool his mother used when she'd peel her vegetables. It forced him to keep his back straight and gave him no arm support. He had to stay focused and awake just to stay upright. It was so uncomfortable, he suspected his mother had only used it to hurry herself into getting her task over with. He took all night to work out the details. The witches were no help.

 _It is a gift. You should not reject it._

 _There is no shame in creating life. Be honored. You did not come to this world to be an average male._

 _The child is meant to come. In passing through your wheels of life, you give it beautiful magic. Do not attempt to destroy its approach. You will only delay it._

In the end, he cast all the protection about himself, his house, and his entire property, that he knew. This wasn't like leaving his body. He didn't know how to find and communicate with master-teachers like that. And the witches had discouraged any attempt.

 _It won't work. You are too upset. When you are in the fourth body, you only summon what you feel. Your fears will have you calling something you can't rid yourself of. At least your mother's books allow you to set controls._

"You knew this would happen to me," He said, rolling the largest rug back against the couch. "You let me think it couldn't."

 _Your mind is your own. We did not hide how babies are made from you._

"You knew it would never occur to me to take precaution against it. You knew I didn't know this would happen."

 _It is a blessing._

People always said that. What else could they say? They certainly couldn't give the thing back. They had to say that. "It's a curse."

He pushed the furniture aside and drew the largest summoning pentacle on the floor, the space would allow. The text had said to keep a mental picture of the person he wanted present. He'd have to be clear about his intention, and most of all, he had to be ready. Amateurs often made the mistake of thinking nothing was happening, when the visitor was present and assessing the worthiness and compatibility of the summoner. Just like physical people, spirits did not like wasting their knowledge on people fooling themselves they were ready for it. Any hysterics or doubt, and a real teacher with something worth giving, would be off.

The rite was supposed to have been done at two in the morning, after several days of dietary restriction and herbal cleansing, all for clearer communication. The visitor did not have to appear in bodily form, but the distinction would be a clear broadcast on the spirit level. If the person were living, they didn't even have to know what was taking place. Their soul would still respond without remembering it, unless they'd been given a conscious reason not to participate in the matter.

Severus pictured the women from his childhood. At least two, had been known to tend to pregnant witches. He didn't know if either had helped his mother, but they were witches, and of the age to know what she knew. He made it a point to specify the knowledge he wanted by writing it out in the center of the pentacle, and again on parchment. The spirit world was entirely telepathic anyway. People only turned their thoughts to words so fast, they hardly knew they were doing it. His need to know, would immediately tune to them, but depending on his reception, he might hear them right away, see them, or have to wait on a series of dreams to interpret their response. Either way, they knew where to point him to what he needed.

He took no sleep, meditated on what he wanted, read the incantations, and stared fixedly at the parchment in the center of the pentacle. The candles were only for light. The house was wired for electricity but he hadn't made any arrangements to turn it on. The book had not said, but when the candles flickered as if they might go out, he knew that this was his cue to stand over his question in the center of the pentacle. He felt his body was needed to act as a conductor between himself and the presence wanting in. If he wanted its help, it need his energy for contact. He should've heard a knock at the door. Even hours later, in broad daylight, an innocent passerby might very well be one of the women summoned, having decided to turn down his street or take a walk on a whim. He didn't know how it was all going to unfold, so he followed the prompts within. It took three minutes of taking in the energy at the center, before he heard a loud knock on the door. Human hands didn't knock like that. But things wielding energy, not hands, did.

He kept himself calm. Whatever had arrived, could only come in through invitation. Without moving, he used his wand to open the door. When she unfolded out of the dark, in all her royal black, he understood that he was dreaming a special dream. More than a vision, it held its own reality in symbol form. Her cloak spilled out into the room and kept spilling in a way that wasn't possible physically. But the fact that it was happening, told him that he'd achieved a greater than fourth-body level reality. She stood half a foot taller than he. His eyes had to climb swells of female curves, ensconced in a velvet so dark, she blended with the night sky behind her. Green fire flashed in an elaborate broach at her throat. And her hair wrapped the length of her body, as mythical in extraordinary beauty and darkness as any legend passed down by muggles.

That was her gift to him. She let him see her face last. She looked like Eileen Prince on steroids. That is, what this energy showed him, was everything he wanted to see. His mother stood in a form truer to her nature, twenty years younger. Her eyes were as black as his and her freckles were invisible against a glow of exhaltation. She fixed him in her focus, smiling a smile that only he could possibly understand. Triumph. She lived! She had left in suffering, in weakness of body, but she returns in rock-star status. She returned, claiming strength and beauty so unapologetic, that it struck the walls in the flourish of her cloak as she moved inside. Power exuded from her movement, turning her approach into unrivaled arrogance that relished the attention.

He had to tell himself that this was not his mother. It could've been. But it wasn't. That was too good to be true. It was, however, a spirit-teacher wanting to put him at ease. Advanced teachers were like that. They would turn the classroom into whatever their student needed it to be, in order to be taught.  
It knew his mind. It wanted to give him the gift of his mother any way that it could. It was not above wonderful, monstrous illusions of mankind's ideal witch. Surely, it knew all the varieties from both his muggle upbringing, and his everyday life.

A part of him suspected the witches were up to something. But the way the visitor witch took him in her smile and held him there, communicated such a rippling thrill of love, even happiness, that he knew this was not of their doing. She didn't feel anything like them. She felt… happy. Even her eyes laughed, as if this seriousness were such a big joke. He heard her laughter. Apprehension melted, slipping from his fingers as she began to spin for him. She twirled twice, her only intention, to show off her graceful attire. Words landed in his mind, but they would not be given sound and meaning until later. Mind to mind with her, he understood that she was delighted to play dress up for his benefit. She even caused her body to flush pale green for a moment, just to poke fun at his memory of finding the OZ witch attractive and wishing she'd been better understood. It was wrong of Dorothy to let her dog chase the witch's cat. Everyone had come out of that badly.

By the end of her second spin, he was so transfixed, he didn't question her approach. She drew near, put her hands to her chest and extended them to his. The last thing he saw, were her open palms held at the level of his lungs. And even though everything went dark, he could still feel warm magic that she pressed into his chest. He sank under the weight of what she knew.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself seated on the same kitchen stool from the night before. He should've been sprawled on the living room floor, drooling on the pentacle. Instead, he was sitting in the exact spot, spine stiff, as if he'd only closed his eyes and dozed a minute. On the table, his tea cup sat empty.

A time alteration. Just assuming he'd fallen asleep, would've caused him to miss it. He slipped from the stool. He could still feel her hands on his chest and something lighter than air going into him. Something that moved like heat waves, only they had nothing to do with temperature. As he moved from the kitchen to the front room, he saw that a most unusual bronze-red warmed the interior.  
Sunlight landed golden, on floorboards and throw rugs, cabinets and chair backs, turning his mother's second-hand furnishings into the God-given wealth bestowed to every man, regardless of status or coin. Renewal. Another day to try again, clean and new. Morning turned his parent's dining room into something that looked like comfort again. Something that might become a home.

In the front room, he saw the bare floor, the pentacle, and all the furniture against the walls. His front door stood open. Calmly, thanking that no one noticed beyond the gate, he closed it. He put the room back together while trying to work out his memories. Something told him to remain calm and patient, no matter what. That was key. Pressure in the front of his head, burst into a full-blown headache just as he finished getting everything back into place. He sat down to let it happen. As soon as he did, the knowledge transferred to him by the extravagant witch, emerged. The headache was all about not getting in the way of energy that was trying to translate itself into symbols he could understand. He would need a clear jar, painted blue inside with food coloring. The tint would last approximately two weeks. By that time, his body will have rejected the embryo.

He could write his own words, in five lines, as long as he was very clear and insistent that the spirit could not use the body inside of him. He had to use the jar, to walk around it, and make an emotional connection, determined in his gut. It will feel like relief, he remembered the witch telling him. His words were to be converted to sigil form. The design was to be copied onto the surfaces that surrounded his bed. If it took, he would see dots of blood. This was the beginning of the process. The first spots had to be save inside the jar, along with the sigil, and a gift of love.

Severus stumbled mentally, over the intrusion of this word, so it shouted louder in his mind. Yes, love. While you hate Potter, this is not him. This entity wanted to come through you because it loves you, not as punishment. To send it away with anything less than love, is to plant a seed of strife within yourself. Your mother did this to you eight times, and she always gave you her love.

Right. Love, then. Whatever that was. Or, he knew, he just couldn't bring himself to give it any real reflection at the moment. He had to bury the jar and be able to fast for three days, only allowing himself certain herbal water. By then, his body would weaken enough to have to decide on saving itself or disconnecting the embryo. It would take up to two weeks to safely sever the blood supply, not because of the volume, but because of the magic.

The visitor witch had left him with the impression that he might not even notice when his body had flushed the thing out. It was still so small a thing, that there didn't have to be a dramatic follow up. When his body was rid of it, he would return to being his normal, male self. The conception was the only thing standing in the way of his true body. As long as his pituitary gland detected it, that gland would orchestrate the rest of his endocrine system to produce enough hormones to keep it viable.

This thought ignited the beginnings of a counter potion. If he had not been so eager to rip the thing out of him, a steadier version of himself would've found a way to brew the hormone supplements needed to put his body aright. But he didn't have time for the months, possibly years, of research that would take. It might be an interesting therapy to patent, but right now, he had to get that damn jar into the ground.

He went straight for the pantry off the kitchen. His mother's canning and preservatives were still there. Since he wasn't going to eat them, he had no concerns for whether her spells were still keeping them edible. When he opened one of the jars, a spiced pickle concoction, he transfigured the contents into red cabbage and blueberries. From this, he made a mash of blue pigmentation, sterilized an empty jar, and stained it. While it dried, he wrote the binding words of his spell on parchment.

That night, the witches bristled about him, swarming him with angry energy.

 _Your mother would not have wanted this. Your life is empty, you have room for a child. This is your chance to rectify all that is wrong with James's ilk. Your magic and his genetics could breed a better being._

He wasn't falling for it. He lay down, having drunk only ginger and lemon tea. He congratulated himself on not eating anything that previous day. He'd gotten a head start on the fasting.

 _The child was meant to come through you. Even you planed this, and now you attempt to avoid your purpose. Your mother did her part and took care to see that you were given everything you needed to follow through._

He pushed them out by focussing on every detail of the summoned, visitor witch, he could remember. She was more dream than vision now. The warmth she'd pressed into his chest, was just a barely-there notion. While she'd stood in his living room, she'd been more real than solid reality. The coloring of her clothes and hair, had leapt to life in ways that no artist could ever preserve. It was as if she'd been made out of molecules that lit with fire and danced with utter joy. How could anything on the other side of the veil be that happy? The witches certainly weren't. Not right now, anyway.

 _You throw your empire away._

He'd written thirty inches of detail before turning off his lamp and willing himself to sleep. Last minute concerns whispered against his temple. Would the spell take? He'd felt foolish walking around the jar, pretending there was someone listening. He didn't have to be convinced that an unborn spirit could hear him. It was more about who that spirit was. Anything produced by James, deserved his scorn. It was difficult to speak with love in his heart. He had been unable to really find it. In the end, he thought of the love he'd felt in the presence of the witch, and how she looked like a perfect version of his mother. He loved that, even if it was just for entertainment. What a show. When it came down to it, the only gift he could place into the jar, was a cluster of his cut hair. It wasn't knitted with care, like his mother's gifts, but it had been made by his body and, so he was told, full of magic. It had to do.

When morning came, he saw what he needed to see and did what he had to do.

It took place on one of the coldest days so far, and under a white, February sky. At least it wasn't raining or snowing. First, he had misgivings about burying the jar on his property. But then, he realized that was the safest place for it. He simply couldn't trust it to remain undisturbed anywhere else. He chose the very back of the garden wall. It was as far as one could go, and still be on the property. He sensed his hesitation had something to do with Tobias's disapproval. His father could not stop his wife from doing this, and now he couldn't stop his son.

The earth seemed to part easier for the jar than it had for Tobias's urn. Severus carved runes into the ground to mark the spot as off-limits to anyone sensitive enough to be drawn to it. He added extra wards to protect the spot. The thought of adding charms directly to the object, had him fearing interaction with the dynamic spell inside. So he focused on the ground around it. Before turning from the bare spot, patting it down with his hands, he whispered, "I'm sorry." He backed away, dusted his hands, and went inside to prepare for his return to school.

James hid behind a shrub and watched all of it with a sneer of nasty satisfaction. Beside him, his house elf crouched, clutching the hem of his jacket. The elf's large eyes nervously glanced around, taking in the strange muggle house and all the overgrown hedges. He had been instructed to keep quiet and hidden, and was doing a very good job of it, even though he clearly felt that he and his master ought not to be there.

A warming charm renewed heat in Jamse's coat and gloves while he waited to make his move. His elf didn't get cold, so he quickly left Badder to obey orders while he skulked along Snape's property. He'd known a week ago, that sneaking into Snape's room and putting a tracer on all of his robes had to yield something. But he didn't know it would lead him to the jack pot until this morning. The only problem was, now that his legs were giving him trouble, the cane he used could not be completely concealed under his invisibility cloak. It had to be camouflaged, and he wasn't yet good enough to make the spell work perfectly. If anyone looked in his direction, the cane had to be kept still, or risk it not taking on the background fast enough to fool a discerning eye.

Since his legs giving out on him, had become a problem, it did grant him permission to use his parent's house elf when he needed to get from class to class. He couldn't apperate from Hogwarts, but he had permission to go back and forth to home whenever he felt a lapse coming on. No amount of coaxing could make him stay home, not when he was this close to undoing whatever curse Snape had him and his friends trapped in.

Now that he was here, on Snape's property, he could apperate with the help of his house elf whenever he wanted to. Dumbledore could ask all the questions he wanted, but that old fart wasn't talking, and James knew why. He had more to hide than any of them did.

They'd finally had it out when Snape's return had been officially announced. The bloody bastard had been taking a different schedule entirely. When James got the order to appear in Dumbledore's office, he hadn't expected to see all three of his friends there. Peter's treatments kept him ill and it was already determined he'd have to repeat the last year if his health ever pulled itself back together. Whatever medicine he was on, had him swollen like a frog's croak sac. A hat covered his head. He was shorter, squatter, and the skin under his chin ballooned into several rows, the same circumference of his head. There was no neck to speak of, but he wore a scarf to conceal the worst of it. He never looked up at James, or looked any of them in the eye. And something weird was going on with his mouth, like he had too many teeth to keep his lips closed over them. James had to look away.

Serious winked at James. It was his trademark signal that he was giving his oppressors hell right back. He looked healthy enough, at first glance, though he sat in a wheelchair. His smile was certainly bright, but James could see through the glamours. Sirius had no teeth or hair, and his body could not withstand the potions that could let them grow back. Not while his various tumors were being treated. One had become two, and two had become six, spread over his body and deforming his joints and especially his spine. It nauseated James to have the ability to see past his charms, to the skin draping off his skeleton. James didn't try to speak to him. He'd been told weeks ago that tumor growth had damaged the speech centers in Sirius's brain. He was no longer, officially, a student of Hogwarts, but his family's hope of finding a cure, prolonged the talk of his return next year as well.

Remus just looked old and tired. James didn't know where he was keeping himself. Even in Dumbledore's presence, his clothes looked like they were falling off of him, like he'd been sleeping on the ground for days. He had hair, but it stood on end, as matted and dusty as the rest of him. Old, black bruises shadowed his face along with new, wine-colored ones. Welts scabbed on top of scarring lacerations. Grime caked in fingernails. His bottom lip looked as though it had been bitten clean through, and was about to burst with infection.

He'd either been fighting spetter monkeys in the forest, or getting into brawls whenever he ditched classes. Like James's, his absences went unchallenged, even though he had no medical excuse for them. When pressed, he blamed it on depression. He blamed it on seeing the suffering of his friends. He wept and shrank from questions regarding his whereabouts or what he did with all of his time. At first he met Dumbledore's inquiry with a resigned, "If my friends aren't graduating, I don't want to either. I don't deserve to."

As Dumbledore pressed, he confessed to having no memory of how he kept waking up outside the castle. He always woke up in the forbidden forest and had to find his way out. And no, the sudden surge of carnage, dead beasts torn to bits and what not, had nothing to do with him.

The truly telling part, was that they all could smell his neglect to bathe. It wasn't a human smell.

Dumbledore finally put them out of one misery, and into another one, by announcing, "You boys will find that your protection at the school is somewhat lessened these days. Hogwarts effectively shields all students, unless they themselves erect barriers that prevent it. I'm afraid, Severus's punishment will be comparable to a stay in Azkaban, and there's nothing I can do to relieve you of it. Nor is there anything I would do."

Those who still had speech capabilities, immediately started to defend themselves or feign ignorance. Dumbledore raised his hand for silence.

"Stop. I know that you are lying. In fact, I have protected you for as long as I can. I know you, and I am not a cold wizard. I fear your schoolboy choices have enmeshed you in far more trouble than you understand. When Severus cursed you the first time, your black-stained hands were supposed to make you choose your next steps very carefully. When you survived the ordeal, you were still not persuaded to stand down. You aligned yourselves with criminal forces and lost your innocence then and there. You cannot be saved from Severus's curse. I'm sorry to have to tell you, your lives will be touched by such tragedy that will make a public sentence to prison, quite unnecessary. By now, you each know what I mean. You have done this to yourselves."

He looked at James.

"You were the leader. These boys followed you fiercely, blindly, against all logic. Such powers of influence and leadership could've been used for better purpose. Had you even the decency to see that Severus's injuries were treated, and made a point of wrapping him up and getting him back to the castle to me, even after you'd used him, there would still be a glimmer of hope for you. But all of you pushed him into the water. All of you took something from him. And to be sure, he offered it. But that was the only way he knew to stop you from coming after him again and again."

He gave this time to sink in.

"Boys, the mercy I show you, the mercy of Hogwarts, allows you to keep your secrets, for you will lose everything else. I do this for you as much as I do it for Severus. Each of you chose your position. Each of you are awarded a certain fate."

When no one, not even James, could argue his defense, Dumbledore's stare swept the length of them.

Dismissed."

James made up his mind, then and there, to use his last breath inflicting as much damage onto Snape as he could. If he could've spent his family's fortune ensuring that Snape's dignity would unravel as publicly as possible, as fucking cruel as having the Headmaster know all about what happened, he would've done it. Who the fuck was Dumbledore to judge any of them? That wizard had so many skeletons up his ass, they rattled when he scratched it.

James knew power when he saw it. Dumbledore didn't just flaunt the beard and fancy robes. He flaunted status. Any pureblood knows you don't get that far ahead of the game without taking somebody the fuck out. Like he's so innocent. Like he didn't have blood on his hands, or have to hide a body or two.

Well, fuck!

Instead of going to class at all after that, James spent his time hunting down anything to do with jar magic. That encompassed everything from making butter to preserving meat, to divining with captured rain water. He didn't find any spell that talked about trapping someone's life. He wouldn't in school, not in detail, but even his home library left him exasperated. He went so far as to skim through all subsidiaries of voodoo, and still found nothing that sat right.

It wasn't until he stopped his house elf from taking his uneaten dinner one evening, that he made any progress. He'd been tied to his bed by an intravenous potion. That, and the battery ferns, were probably the only things keeping his alive. He stopped his house elf. "Yo, Badder."

Badder was prompt. Master Potter had told him he wasn't finished and to come back in twenty minutes. Badder was back, and did not have to be told to remove the plate.

James had locked onto the elf's bony wrist just as Badder reached for the plate.

Elves knew things, didn't they? They lived forever, or at least a long time if nothing killed them. Surely they were resources of lost magic. Badder had been with his family before his grandfather's time, but didn't look any older than James remembered him from the age of two. If Badder was aging, through leathery skin, wrinkled, sphinx-like ears, and enormous, interested eyes, he couldn't tell.

"Badder, you know a lot of spells, right?"

"Master is wanting a list, then?"

"No. Have you ever heard of a wizard spell that could trap someone's life in a jar? Like, it would make that person so sick, until they died?"

Badder's hand had gone to his mouth. "They's suffocating in that jar, then?"

"Yeah, kinda. Only they keep getting sick and the never get better."

"They best break the jar, sir. They gotta get air."

"I know, but have you ever heard of a witch or wizard, say, trapping someone's soul in a jar? You've been around a long time, and I was just wondering."

Badder's forehead crinkled in concentration. He looked at his feet, thoughtful. "That means opposite, that is. Badder is loyal and does not tell his mistresses secrets. He will not name names upon penalty of death."

James raised himself up. "Calm down. Secrets? Oh, no, Badder. I wouldn't ask you to tell someone's secrets. But you do know a spell that puts a person's life in a jar, until they're dead?"

"Badder doesn't know any magic like that. The only jar magic Badder knows, is when he must bury the jar and make sure no one will ever find it. Then the mistresses are happy."

"And what's in the jars?"

Badder leaned in close. "Souls, Master Potter. The souls don't get sick and die. They already dead."

James thought about this. "So a soul can be put into a jar, and trapped?"

Badder added, "The witch is master of the jar. She binds it there till it has no choice but to leave."

"Does this spell have a name?"

Badder shrugged. "I don't know it. Ladies always having need of trapping a soul here or there. It is useful, secret magic."

"And what happens to the body, when the soul gets tired of waiting around in the jar?"

"Badder never seen a body. Just the jars."

James sighed. Of course, the elves did the dirty work while the victims wasted away. He let Badder take his plate. "If you can remember any more about the spell, let me know."

Badder bowed, taking his leave.

It wasn't a very insightful conversation, but it had provided more credibility to the vision he'd had of Snape's jars, than anything so far. Since he'd completely given up going to class, and his friends were no longer available, he wondered how he could keep an eye on Snape. He'd worked out most of it before the drip put him to sleep.

Now, in Snape's yard, with him disappearing into the dreary old house, James couldn't get to the bald spot of dead grass fast enough. He made a reckless, feeble shuffle that nearly lost him the cloak and the cane. He fell to his knees and lifted his wand to reveal the spells.

All the wards guarding the object, were identity-based. Snape had erected them, only Snape could undo them. James took the locket out of his shirt, and held his wand to it. His inhalation drew Snape's blueprinted essence from the locket, from the drawing of Lily that Snape had made with his own hands, and into the tip of his wand. James set about disconnecting the protective links using Snape's magical signature. The wards fell off. He kissed the locket and thanked his own genius for its usefulness.

He hadn't known for sure, that it was a jar, until he saw it. His eyes struggled with depth. Snape's hands had been quick, going from coat to ground, and the jar was only an old, half-pint canning one. But it was blue for some reason and he couldn't see inside of it. His heart beat outside his chest. This was it. This was proof. That motherfucker knew dark magic that James couldn't even begin to imagine. And Dumbledore thought _he_ was evil? Thought he was the murderer? While Snape pranced around school grounds doing whatever the fuck he wanted, while James and his friends were the ones dying.

He covered the hole and replaced Snape's wards with the easiest, most common ones, just to keep the wizard from noticing anything too soon. His discovery excited him too much to think it through. All he knew, was that his vision was yielding truth. He'd asked to see Snape's magic, saw it, and retained valuable clues as to how Snape had cursed him. And now he held the key to setting himself free. There had been glowing jars and now he was holding one. It looked plain, but it might be glowing in the spirit world. Physical things had a way of hiding their light and looking ordinary, until you saw them in the right light. Like Snape himself.

James wasn't stupid. He suspected he couldn't just open the jar and be done with it. Anything that tied his life to it, might also be booby-trapped if tampered with. Hell, he didn't even know if this was his life in the Jar, or Serius's, or Remus's, or Peter's. He'd have to come back tonight and do a scan of the whole property. He could get Snape's wards to glow in the dark and he could take his time with it.

He grabbed Badder's hand and apperated home.

Severus waited until the bathroom was completely empty, before drawing himself up in a stall. He put his head down till the nausea left him. He had read up on symptoms. The sickness was normal, but he shouldn't be feeling it if his plans were working. He'd been able to settle his stomach the first two times, with a potion lifted right from his mother's remedies. But he'd been late getting to it in time today. It was more than a stomach ache. It was an all-over bodily deflation of one's will to live-sickness, and wasn't just there in the mornings.

The witches weren't speaking to him. Or he wasn't listening still. He did hear the whisper of suggestions like, _just one egg before bed and one for breakfast. You'll feel better._

Nope. This was day three, his final day of fasting, and even if he could swallow something, he was sure he couldn't keep it down. The more he told himself the spell was working just fine, the more something shouted at him that it wasn't. The thing wasn't backing down. It might even be possible that it was fighting for its life.

Your paranoid. Scared and paranoid.

That wasn't the witches. That was his own voice of reason. He'd seen the first spot of blood, which indicated his spell was working. But he'd felt so sick for the past two days, he'd been tempted to miss classes. That would've been a disaster, considering he was working to repair the damage to his record, that would allow him to graduate on time.

The sound of his classmates' horseplay, out in the hall, made him draw deeper onto himself. He couldn't ever remember laughing like that, or being that carefree. He comforted himself by realizing this wasn't going to last. The spell was working. He'd graduate and put this place, as wonderful as it was, behind him. There was too much baggage now, to ever recover from it, or to pretend it didn't exist.

He squeezed his eyes closed through another wave of reeling bitter weakness. As he did, he tried to pinpoint the pain and found that it was indistinguishable from anything physical or emotional. It just hurt and he clamped his teeth down on it.

When James kicked the door in, Severus jumped to his feet. He slipped on his robe and cracked his tail bone on the fixture at the back of the toilet. Pain made him forget his nausea. And the sight of James holding what looked like the jar he'd buried, trapped him between two very sharp intensities. Before he could process the smirk on James's face, the cane he held in one hand, and the jar he held in the other, James's yellow skin stretched the length of his face.

Severus drew his wand, and James held the jar up in his wand hand. "Look what I have. Before you attack me, pay attention."

What else could Severus do?

"I thought this might get you to look at me. Seeing as how I'm so easy to ignore these days."

"How did you get that?" Severus asked, his voice going low with threat.

"Never mind that. Just call it off. You thought I'd be dead by now, and I'm nearly there. But I found your game. I found a way around it, and I promise you, if you don't free my soul, I'm going to make you very sorry."

"What?" Severus couldn't hide his confusion over the absurdity of James's words.

"Don't play dumb. We're way past that. I'm not dying for you. I'm not going to let my friends die. This is the only jar I found on your property, the only one buried under your magic. Does it hold all of us, or just me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The fucking curse!" His voice exploded, before he gained control of the volume. "You did this to me. I get it, the sucker punch of all sucker punches. Good for you, Snape. Only, I don't feel much like dying today, and I want my fucking life back."

He lunged. Severus did not take his eyes off the jar. His wand lifted, but he couldn't bring himself to try a spell that would risk breaking it. James went for his robes, letting the cane slap down on the floor, and twisting Snape's collar. James backed him into the corner of the stall. Snape got the opportunity to see, firsthand, how much weight he had lost, and how much lighter his pushes felt. It was nothing compared to what it had been. Snape was certain he could've taken James's wand away from him. But he would not risk any harm to the jar.

James pulled the locket from his shirt. "See this? I got some of you in here, and some of her. The Fire Shackle already knows you, even if it doesn't work on you anymore. All I have to do, is take Lily's part and tie it in to whatever you've got going inside this thing." He shook the jar. "I'll open it. I'll put her right in there with me, and find a way to make it stick. I'm getting pretty good with curses."  
He could not know what the look of horror on Snape's face really meant.

"You've had your revenge. Now give me my life back. Whatever this is, call it off. Either you call it off, or I'll take Lily with me. You make a fucking choice!"

His fist hit the stall above their heads. As if this were exclamation enough, he lifted off of Snape and took the jar with him, leaving the bathroom.

It took Severus minutes to get color back into his face, and to acclimate to the fact that James's idiocy had just landed him into a fresh new hell.


	18. Reptilian

The sight of James holding the jar, had sent a shard so jaggedly sharp through Severus, he remained incapable of moving from the stall. Sickness, already pinning his soul to the floor, shrank on itself and twisted into something small and corrosive that punctured his gut and bent him over. Wiping sweat from his vision, he cast wards to discourage others from coming near the stall. He needed time to figure out what to do. How could he get the jar from James and keep Lily alive in the process? He thought through the pain.

He didn't even know what it would do, to have James make good on his threat. There was no curse in that jar that could kill Lily. But if James did anything to link his and Lily's life, using the magic in the jar, his curse might have enough power to transfer to her. At best, her life would support his. She'd become a host to his parasitic need, until she too was ravaged by the same afflictions. It would buy James more time, but ultimately take both their lives. That was the best scenario.

As for the unborn thing, that spell was already interrupted. The thing was still thriving, apparently, or maybe it wasn't. Maybe, after days of hunger, that's all the pain was. That's all the sickness was. His body had been demanding nourishment so strongly, he had ignored it aggressively. As long as the contents of the jar were undisturbed, the spell had to be intact. It had to be. It was _his_ spell, it had to obey him. It was his contract with _his_ body. Even if James opened the jar, it was still a valid contract. Severus hadn't revoked it in any way. He had done everything he was supposed to do. It wasn't his fault if James could sink lower than anyone else. That seemed to be his fucking super power.

How to get the jar back? This was too serious for wasting time sneaking around. He'd have to ask for it back. He'd have to lie again, and say he'll remove the curse, but he needs the jar. Go to the Gryffindor quarters, stand there, and lie to James's face, no matter who was watching. He wanted the jar badly enough that he could do that. But it was so cowardly. It showed the fear James had inspired in him. It was so filled with James's utter triumph. The more Severus tried to make himself swallow his pride, the more his throat clogged on the thought. His chest tightened. His lungs begged for more air.

Do it for Lily. He's going to die anyway. He doesn't win. Do it for Lily.

There was something about showing James how much he needed that jar back, that kept him where he sat. He couldn't hide how personal a thing it was. Just seeing James handle it, as carelessly as he had, was somehow more painful than what was done to his body. More personal. He couldn't let James know what he really had. Asking for it back, would only prove its worth. If James knew what he had, he might hold out for more. He might ask for more than his life. He might… keep it.

Anger steamed his vision and poured down his face. There, he found it. The threat that hurt the most. He hadn't even realized he'd been looking for it. He needed to know his weakest spot, so that he could plan an appropriate defense. He thought that spot would've been Lily, and it was. But something else was hiding beneath that. If ideas and worries were thorny vines, he'd just hacked his way through to the roots.

Since returning to school, he'd gotten his hands on a few restricted books, and even bought his own. The topic of male pregnancies, in relation to wizards, was rare but possible. It was still taboo enough to be kept secret, and wizards were not encouraged to seek it out. None of it occurred naturally, and had to be assisted with magic or surgery, or both. Legally, the founding laws of wizard society recognized _Masculine Impregnation_ as a valid means of continuing one's legacy. The demand for heirs, had witches and wizards resolving their own fertility problems long before muggles developed _In Vitro Fertilization_. But wizards faired no better in ensuing conflicts over bodily rights and claims to the offspring. And all the cases he'd been able to reference, involved males who were magically made capable of carrying offspring, but were still anatomically male.

Magic knows its own. That's why purebloods were so protective and prejudice. Somewhere in that reasoning, hinted the truth that James's magic could lay claim to what was rightfully his. If he knew about it, he could violate the self-abortion contract. If he were the kind of wizard, shrewd enough to care where he planted his seed, he could take action to protect it. That's why the jars were hidden. James didn't even need to care about it, to cause Severus's life hell. Legally, he could fight for its survival. Legally, it was a viable heir. Maybe, if a court knew what he'd done to get it, his rights would be nullified. But Severus wasn't going to entertain any courtroom by making that public knowledge. He could not go through that hell, and risk it not working.

However, there was no danger in James giving a damn about it, unless he could use it as a weapon. If his family supported him, using every wizard law and all their money to win the right to force Severus to follow through, the fight would publicly legitimize the offspring as his heir. Would that protect it? Severus wondered. Would James's family let him mistreat it, if he won custody? Or would they finally insist on him being the proper wizard, and representation, of their family name and honor?

He shook the thought from his head. Of course James would be vile. Of course, it was unthinkable to let something like that fall into his hands. Of course it had to be destroyed.

 _You have a home,_ the witches tore into his mind. He'd been doing his best to ignore them.

 _You have an empty home that needs a child. You could say that you adopted him. You can keep your secret._

Him?

"Go away!" Severus shouted, not caring if anyone heard. He didn't need the witches scheming in his head. They couldn't be trusted. And they certainly couldn't seduce him with the lure of a male child.

"I don't give a damn. Males are not more valuable than females! It's nothing to me." In fact, if things were different, if he had to procreate, he preferred a daughter who looked like a cross between Lily and his mother. She'd be brilliant and perfect and utterly lovely, until he contaminated her with whatever it was about him that put people off. Maybe, with Lily by his side, the child would be more like her, possessing a light that would enable her to avoid all the strangeness. But then, if he saw a little of it in her, if she preferred books to boys, he couldn't help but love that.

No sooner than his lips reacted in a smile, weak but genuine, than he forced it away. This was no time to entertain thoughts of the impossible.

He thought so long and hard about how he might steal the jar, his nose started to bleed. By lights-out, he was still in the stall, and decided upon what his next course of action needed to be. He needed to save Lily. If it turned out that James had violated the abortion spell by tampering with the jar, he'd create another jar. What if this is why his father had found so many? But one thing he had to protect against, was James taking Lily with him. This is why he waited up. This is why he waited till the last member of his house, had been hours asleep. He did a precursory check of the floor before sealing the bathroom off for privacy. With his wand, he drew a pentagram of thin, linear light onto the floor tiles, and prepared to summon the help he needed.

 _It won't work,_ the witches said. _You're weaker than you know. She can't come to you again. Not here._

That didn't stop him from finishing the pentagram. He wrote his summons, then prepared to stand in the center. He never made it up from the floor. His arms gave out, and darkness crept in.

Something about the hand, which trailed down his face, introduced the person touching him. Fingers left magic in their wake, writing lines upon his skin the way a boat left effervescent trails cresting in water. Without opening his eyes, he felt Tom Riddle's intention surround him and sink against him.

He leaned in to it. In that velvet darkness, it pushed all the pain out of the way. There, he opened his eyes and met Tom for the second time.

Tom smiled down at him, appearing to squat over him on the bathroom floor. "You summoned?"

Humor saturated his handsome smile. Severus knew it was a joke on Riddle's part, but he remembered the witches telling him not to summon things out of fear.

 _Your fears will have you calling something you can't rid yourself of._

Tom took his hand and encouraged him to his feet. As this took place, in a timeless, surreal place between physical and imagination, Severus wondered what it meant that he could feel Tom's touch. Was he in Tom's world? Or was Tom in his?

"Don't waste your time on such distinctions," Tom answered him. "No, you're not dead. And no, I'm not quite where your body is laying at the moment. But we're together, to be sure."

Severus studied him. This was the same ghost of a young man he'd encountered at the bottom of the castle. He'd had a giant snake-thing for a pet and possessed a manner that was exaggeratedly civil. Like his looks, the way he spoke bordered on ridiculous politeness and excessive appeal. If looks and manners where ingredients, they would've been overkill and extremely distasteful to the palate.

 _Exactly. His charm is a mask, the best of its kind,_ the witches warned him.

How is it, that I can feel him?

 _You two are meeting in the corridor between the third and fourth bodies. You are of equal enough density to see and touch. This is how he knows you._

Tom lifted his shoulders. "You can feel me, because I'm just as real as you are. My access to your world, is somewhat compromised, but I'm still a player in this game you call life."

As if this provided perfect understanding, Tom moved on. "Your magic is quite intoxicating. I am building great new connections with it. Connections between people. Connections between worlds. I am growing quite addicted to the strength that it gives me. When you hit the floor, your agony spilled down to the foundation. I came running. I am here to assist you in any way that you require. Suffer no more, my friend."

Severus tried to read his expression. Empty courtesy reflected back at him. A schoolboy's untested innocence smoothed over his features, while something slippery glistened and mocked in the light of his eyes.

Did he know? Did he know about Severus's problem already?

 _He will either make you think he knows more than he does, or he will deceive you into believing he knows only what you tell him. He knows what you show him with your thoughts. Guard your mind quickly._

"Of course I know. This is not our first conversation. Nor our second. Nor our third. Don't you remember our midnight meetings in Salazar's chamber?"

Severus barely shook his head.

"Ever since I rescued your body, you might say, we've been friends. I can roam the castle now. I can see what sort of trouble the students are getting up to. I can help the Slytherins. I can whisper into their dreams, as I do with yours. You always come to the lower levels whenever I call you. Pity you don't exercise your memory of it."

Is this true?

 _Yes. You come in the form you are in now. The body remains asleep._

Does he know about you?

 _He knows only that you have company about you. Everyone does to some degree. If you start to think in detail of us, he will see._

"When you're quite finished consulting with your council, we can get started on solving your problem."

"And what do you believe is my problem?"

A look of pity filmed across Tom's beautiful face. "Only what you've told me. Only what you've shown me. You need the Potter boy to die. It isn't clear to me what has happened since we last discussed it, but something has hastened your desire. Something quickens your despair. He has further injured you. You want him dead this instant, and yet you hesitate to strike the final blow."

His summary, as bereft of detail as it was, hit its mark with Severus, striking anger that writhed in agony. "He's going to try to kill someone I love. He's going to use The Debt, a curse I created, against her. I don't know how to stop it.

 _You can't stop it. You designed it so that no one could._

"And her sacrifice, is not worth his death?"

"No."

"Then show me the curse. Show me your design."

Severus allowed his measures and scripts to unfold in his memory.

"Then he's won, my friend. You were very thorough. Meticulous artistry."

"He can't take her with him. There must be a way."

Tom lowered his eyes and waited the right amount of time, before adding, "You can't undo the curse, but you can still create great spells. You could write another, to compensate for the first one. It would mean giving the Potter boy life, to counteract what's being taken from him daily. Would you be willing to do that?"

Writhing anger abruptly stilled. Severus felt himself go quiet on multiple levels. He'd sacrificed so much to get James gone. He didn't know if he could make those gears turn backwards, against all nature, to undo the work he'd done. Not even to save Lily's life. He certainly wanted to save her, but the part of him that had laid every inch of the curse, was not willing to compromise on it. If Lily had been foolish enough to trust her affection to James, then she was doomed anyway. She'd doomed herself, it was just a matter of time.

Yes, but Severus would rather not have a hand in it. He could not let his curse cross her path. That curse was meant for monsters only, and supposed to stay in a world where humans didn't go. Just because James was threatening to let it out, didn't mean he could simply allow it to happen. He couldn't save Lily from James, but he could save her from James's fate.

As painful as it was to shape the words, he asked, "What do I do?"

 _Do nothing!_

"Give him your life," Tom said innocently. "You have plenty to spare."

Sickness lurched in Severus's stomach. Particularly, from the memory of how he'd gotten the curse so deeply embedded into James's existence. He couldn't launch another spell like that again. Certainly not the way he had before, letting James do what he had done.

Tom didn't even try to conceal is amusement. "Not that way. There are other ways to route magic around the curse. They don't go as deep, but we don't need to. We just need to pipe some life support into James. We may not be able to undo the first curse, but we can build around it. Since his soul will not open to you again, you will have to use enough magic to break through his levels. There is no, one and done, spell powerful enough to sustain the results that you want. So if you want him to live, you're going to have to sustain his life. That means feeding his magic in a supplemental manner, on a regular basis. You could make small sacrifices of your own magic. If he ties the girl to the curse, she will have life as long as he has life. And he will have life as long as we give it to him."

"We?"

"Yes, I agree to help you. You're going to need my expertise. I know all about keeping things alive that should be dead."

Severus was sure that wherever his real body lay, in the physical bathroom, the hairs on it were standing.

"For instance, you and I are meeting between bodily dimensions. Effective information is being exchanged between us. If you write the appropriate spell, I could be thought of as your delivery system. I can feed your magic to the worms that currently feast on him, or you can prescribe him spells that refortify the frequencies he's losing. You can write spells that rebuild his auric connection to this world every month, following his old blueprint. He'll think that he defeated you, and never realize that he's in your debt."

"If I give him one day of life longer than he deserves, he will have defeated me."

"But you seem to believe the girl is worth it. And besides, everything keeping him alive, will be yours to pull out from beneath him, once you are ready to do so. Clearly, you aren't ready to kill him now."

Severus waited before responding to Tom. He waited on the witches to shoot down Tom's reasoning. Their silence confused him. Why weren't they saying anything to this?

 _We have told you, do nothing._

But will Tom's idea work?

 _His plan is not your plan. His plan will work. Your plan will not._

Bitches!

 _We do not tell you lies. You can buy James some time, but you cannot save his life. Not even to save Lily._

"I just need to make sure Lily survives until I can get the jar away from James. I can stop feeding him my magic when I know she's safe."

Tom was looking at him very carefully. Severus immediately told himself to code any thought of the jar with the image and idea of a vault. If Tom had seen it, he said nothing. But then, Severus couldn't be sure he hadn't already mentioned it openly in their previous encounters. If he couldn't remember those, then he couldn't be sure of anything. He'd have to get back and find out who the hell Tom Riddle was, aside from being a former student. It mattered now in a way that it had not before. But now, Tom fully expected an answer to his offer to help. It wasn't like Severus could hold him off while he checked Tom's credentials. It wasn't like he could waste anymore time risking Lily's life.

"Then we have an agreement?" Tom asked.

"I write the spell. You deliver it to James in his spirit level. He and Lily survive, even if he binds her to The Debt? He won't die until I stop feeding him my magic?"

"You can specify exactly those terms. Be as specific as you want. I'll even sign it in magic."

"Why are you helping me? What do you want in return?"

Tom looked surprised. "My boy, you helped me. I'm simply returning the favor."

"You already saved my body. You want something more."

Tom suppressed a laugh. Whatever he, as a specter, remembered about human embarrassment, he imitated it well, even flushing a little and looking down. "Nothing more than what we've discussed. We're friends now. Partners. As I told you, the first night I came to your room, I want us to be friends. This is what friends do for each other."

"None of the other ghosts at Hogwarts seek friendship among the living."

"They may not have, with you. But I am not a ghost. I am alive. My body walks in your world. This is simply the part of it, that I've left to guard the castle. My boy, I have magic that you've never heard of, which is why you need me. Together, we can do things that we could not otherwise. I have great plans.

"Our meeting demonstrates your resilience. You are awake on levels that most wizards are not. You have a threshold for pain and endurance that most do not. If your spell-craft, and your cunning ambition to end another's life, are any indication of your mental acuity, I'd say that you and I are well matched. I'm going to need someone of your caliber to assist me at some point. You don't have to agree now. But let me help you. Le me ingratiate myself to you, so that my actions can tell you if I'm to be trusted. Let my help show you whether or not you want to continue getting to know me."

Again, the witches were uncharacteristically silent.

 _We're here. We await your choice, as he does._

In that vacuum, Severus decided. "Yes, I accept your help." For the second time. "I will write the prescribed spell. Then what?" He didn't want to give Tom another jar. He'd use animal sacrifices before he did that.

"Relax, I won't ask you for another jar. You're going to need those later. In fact, you'll better assist me if you have those. I'm going to ask you for something else. Something quite magic, that you take for granted. You'll find that you always get more of it. When it comes back again, you'll know that it's time to repeat the cycle. Another prescription to keep James alive, will need filling. Hopefully, this ordeal will not last beyond one or two cycles. But you have the power to make it last indefinitely."

Severus waited. He thought he knew what Tom would ask for, but would rather hear him say it to make certain.

"Your hair," Tom said simply. "It grows back so quickly, because your Life Wheels are numerous and constantly producing more than your body can use. You have enough magic to keep both Potter and the girl alive."

How did he know about Severus's hair?

"Honestly, you remember nothing of our evenings together?" He stepped forward. His hand lifted and stroked the length of Severus's hair. Severus drew back.

Tom smiled. "The first thing I'm going to do, after all this is out of the way, is teach you to be more conscious in your spirit state. Just because you have a body, doesn't mean you stay there all day and night. You have quite an active life outside of it, living or dead. But you call those dreams, don't you?"

He allowed a teasing smile to play at the edges of his lips. "If you want to know more about our relationship, you're going to have to learn to wake up all the way."

He leaned in close, kissing the corner of Severus's mouth.

Stunned, Severus blinked at encroaching memories and feelings. Tom had delivered more than a touch, he delivered lost time and events that Severus had regarded as ephemeral dreams, not worth recalling. But from this side of reality, they were as real as anything. More real than any punch to the gut. More real than the kisses at his neck, or Tom's fingers curling as they drew up the hem of his robe.

Something whispered, and it wasn't the witches, that all of this wasn't the first time it had happened. Tom touched him like he'd won the right. And Severus observed himself, uncomfortable and barely tolerant. He was trying to follow the scenes in his mind that told him, Tom had done this before. Tom could soak his way in and out of Severus's memory, slipping like wetness, through the barrier of fibers, without ever leaving a trace. He could make it seem like this had never happened, just as he had done. He could slip past Severus's defenses right in front of him.

This realization horrified him, as it caused Tom to chuckle into his collar. "You'll get used to it, Severus. All of you do."


	19. Trinity

Okay, so I wrote 22 pages in twenty-four hours. If you find mistakes, be gracious and forgive me. This chapter, along with chapter 20, which is an epilogue, ends this journey. Thank you SOOOO much to everyone who took it with me. This, and Draco, cleared 5000 hits some time ago, and that's a record for me, as well as the kudos and comments. The response, including the doubters, have been a totally satisfying success for me, and as I'm ready to fall on my face from eye-strain, I thank you all from deep in my heart. Peace!

* * *

James didn't have anymore time to give Snape. It had been a full twenty-four hours since threatening him with Lily's life. That was enough time to make a decisive move. As far as James was concerned, when Snape did not show up within two hours, begging to make things right, James had his answer. He wouldn't have waited this long, only waking up to vomit and blood coming out one end, and worse coming out the other, he'd realized the seizures weren't giving him any choice. He didn't exactly have another day to waste on Snape. Hell, for all he knew Snape had done something to hasten things. Snape could kill him before he succeeded in tying his life to Lily's.

He couldn't quite pull himself up in the bed. Even though he was shivering, sweat-heat broke out under his arms and in the center of his chest. His arms couldn't hold his weight. He told himself that it was all psychosomatic. A muggle word. It was all in his mind. He remembered how he'd kicked the bathroom stall in yesterday. How he'd grabbed Snape. He had the jar, he had the upper hand. That had inspired strength in him. If he could do it then, he could do it now. Only, he couldn't quite do it. He had to roll himself out of the bed. Everything went dark a little bit when he hit the floor. He recovered enough to drag himself slowly to his trunk. For the past two days, anything he tried to do with his wand, hadn't worked. The simplest summoning charm, left him weaker and staring at his unmoving target a few feet away. It was like he just couldn't access his magic.

He tried not to think of how cold and dark the room was. How barren, without his mates taking up the other beds. Elves kept the wood stove charmed well enough, but he barely felt it. Having a huge room to one's self, with three empty beds, was a completely different experience at Hogwarts. Not like the easiness and comfort of days past. When your friends weren't there, you really saw what they brought with them, and what they took with them. There was something especially cruel about being in the space as all that cheer and laughter, and not being able to find it when you need it. Everything looked the same, but withheld all friendliness from you. Being alone was the worst thing in the world to James. Dying alone, well, that fucking wasn't going to happen.

With shaking hands, he took the jar from his trunk and stared long and hard at the blue-tinted glass. Whatever the dye was inside, it was fading. It had become lighter and he could make out smear lines circling on themselves, where fibers had painted the inside. Peering through this, he saw shadows of things. He'd already tried to get the jar to reveal its secrets. It had shaken a little, but that was all.

Open it. Break it. What did he have to lose? If Snape was such a bastardly git that he'd let Lily die, then James didn't have any choice. Untwisting the lid wasn't an option. It wouldn't budge and he couldn't make a heat source to loosen it. When he lifted it, he told himself that his next action would either kill him or free him. Unable to hurl it, he let if fall over the grill surrounding the wood furnace. It didn't shatter, but it fractured enough to send a thrill of hope through James, when he realized he didn't feel any worse. He dropped it again, this time lower and softer enough for it to separate mostly into large shards. Inside of glistening blue edges, paper and shiny black fibers peeked out.

James picked through it. The paper appeared blank and the fibers were obviously hair. Obviously Snape's. He'd played with it long enough to recognize the quality of color and texture, not to mention the git had already used it to turn James's hands black.

Everyone liked to poke fun at Snape's hair and call it greasy, but it really wasn't. James might've been the only one who knew it really wasn't. The strands were ultra fine, but so numerous in a centimeter of surface area, that they collapsed at the base of the follicle under their own weight. Strands fell into lines that reflected light in straight angles, giving the appearance of sheen, easily dismissed as oily. He remembered raking his fingers through the very roots when he was deep inside Snape, as if his hands needed to feel the same equivalent. Those strands felt like power and they smelled like a dry brine of sun and wood. James's hands, and all of him, needed to be as immersed in that magic as possible. And if he ever got them on Snap's hair again, he'd rip it out by the fistful, taking chunks of scalp so that it couldn't grow back.

He snatched the hair. It had been banded at both ends. He didn't know what the hell this spell was, but it was full of Snape's magic. He pulled at the Fire Shackle locket, popped it open and let Lily's hair and the folded piece of drawing, fall onto the floor boards.

It was math. It was logic. A lesser power source needed to tap into a greater one. The hair was obviously generating some long-term magic. Hair, left alone, takes a long time to atrophy. Hell, it survives ice ages, so it was acting as some kind of self-sustaining engine in the equation. It was probably supplying whatever was written on the paper. Should he burn the paper now? Would that be an instant disconnection or trigger some acceleration? Fire could amplify magic. Better to try to strip the spell down using disarming charms, after he locked onto Snape's magic.

He set the paper aside and went for the hair. He had his wand, not sure how useful it would be. Instinct told him to braid Snape's and Lily's hair. Nothing fancy, just get them connected and use the same incantation that programmed the Fire Shackle to know where to go. He knew that incantations were not interchangeable, but if you knew the basics, the fundamentals, you could improvise the rest. Especially in an emergency capacity. If it bought him one more day, if it made him feel any better, it would be worth it.

He added his own hair as an afterthought. He hardly had any, but found something short and wiry still hanging onto his scalp. For good measure, he plucked a few lashes and brows, hoping they'd still reflect undamaged genetic material. He pointed his wand over the mangled pile of fibers and went through the motions of the spell he remembered. He directed the output and flow of Snape's hair, through all the materials, and the essence behind them. For insurance, he directed it in tight, severe loops from individuals strands of Lily's hair, into the paper, and back into Lily's hair. He tied knots without any system, until the tip of his wand actually felt like it was shifting energy. It vibrated to the tips of his fingers and stirred the rest of him. It felt like waking up to greater focus. Greater interest. When he was sure he definitely wasn't imagining the influx of sensation traveling up his wand and into his arm, he sat up.

Something was happening. For a moment, he let his wand hover over the spell concoction without doing anything. This pause allowed him to feel the intake, as the wand thrummed with something moving through it, coming towards him from the pile. Magic was on the move. As it traveled up his arm, he became sensitive to how it also surrounded him. Like blood flow rushing back into frozen toes, he regained his ability to feel energy displaced by magic. His body started to breathe without him. That is, it took in long gulps of air far more deeply than he could consciously control. And every time it let go, poisonous bile let go with it. He couldn't see it, but he felt it. Every expel left him lighter, stronger, and more alert, as if something had been closing off access to vitality the whole time.

It was working. He was coming back to life. His organs were getting, not just oxygen properly, but magic as well. He felt it build within him. The moment when he felt normal again, came and went, and surpassed into something greater. He didn't dare stand until he knew where this was going. Brass sonics filled his ears as his blood raced faster than his veins were meant to support and his heart meant to pump. His cells swelled with adrenaline, manufactured as quickly as magic pulsed into him.

He laughed, lifted on the wave of it. The irony was incredible. The truest part of him, his magical core, rode something that threaded its way in winding spirals, through him. His back arched to give it the breadth it wanted. He shuddered in its wake. It was like being fucked by Snape's magic. All he could do was laugh at his own success as he rode unbridled power. He didn't stand. He couldn't. He fell, and kept falling long after his head hit the floor. His soul laughed as it flew.

That's what the river raging in his veins meant. It meant the magic was causing him to speed up faster than his body could go. He had no choice but to leave it. It was bliss. Feeling good again was bliss. It was relief a million times over. It was freedom. In that open wide exaltation, it was strength. Without having to think, his will knew what it wanted. Forget whatever the body wanted, whatever the body's plans were. Forget that small personality that didn't even know how to use good magic, he had better things to do. Too long, he had been bound by someone else's will. Too long, he had been made to wait before getting his release. Now he was free, and all he wanted was to celebrate that fulfillment by giving into his most immediate desire. He wanted to go home. Not to some box with relatives, but home, to the core of his magic and his reason for being. His magic pulsed in sync with where he truly belonged. Home. Snape. Core. Thrill to no end, the-world-be-damned. Severus. Sweet, Severus.

The idea of merging in exactly the place where he belonged, in that suspension of timelessness, had him doing exactly that. He didn't ask himself if it was real or not. The fact that he could feel himself leap the distance into Snape's world, was all the real he needed. He remembered what Snape's world was made of. The gold discs of music, the artistry of dark furniture and plush fabrics. All the things Snape kept hidden from the world. His sensuality. His sexuality. His warmth. His magic was so abundant that he walked over pools of it. It washed through his existence, cycling through a mechanism that kept multiple wheels spinning more and more magic for him. James remembered that magic.

All he knew, was that the slender back was to him, and that robe was the most exquisite color of forbidden black ever dreamt into meaningfulness by anyone. You don't conjure a color and texture like that if you don't value attention. You don't make something so beautiful, and then deny others touching it, without knowing how cruel you were being. Out here, outside the body, the fabric was made out of the need to be touched. This is why James had to answer to it. James had to give Snape's soul the fulfillment it could not let itself have while wearing a suit of flesh. James lifted his hands against Snape's back, trailing from straight shoulders to a masculine, narrow waste.

The energy in front of him, lashed out. It wasn't about who was quicker, or who was stronger. It was about what each one wanted, meeting in competitive magic. James knew that all he had to do, was give himself completely to what he wanted. The magic would do the rest. If Snape wanted him dead, they would just have to see what the magic did with that, and who competed to their core, and who held back. He was back in the room, in the inn. And even though his face gushed blood, he knew what he wanted. He knew he could get inside, if he could just hold Snape down a second longer.

The memory opened again, and he felt himself push through. This wasn't just Snape's body, it was his magic. He was back in Snape's magic. Emotion flashed, taking the place of clock-time. Psychological time reigned supreme. His desire for Snape, presented all the logical turn of events he would ever get, and never understand. His thrusts gave his own energy back to him, pushing it out of Snape and back into the circuit completing their magic. In that cycle, in the mounting ecstacy, the jars revealed themselves to him.

Seeing them again, was a kind of understanding. This was a storehouse of Snape's magic and the bright yellow-gold, with all the bubbles fizzing, was the brightest. That's where Snape was keeping his soul hostage. The blue jar was only a physical counterpart, attached to the real one.

His climax split into two levels. On one, he held onto Snape and took him into an abyss of pleasure that could not coexist with mortal memory. Neither of them would be able to bring it back with them in terms of reflection. Not while they inhabited flesh, which could only accommodate so much data and sensation. On the other level, his climax came when he reached for the one jar and smashed it against the illusory foundation serving as a floor of watery mist. His only hope was to free it. He expected it to rise around him and absorb back into his being.

That didn't happen. Yellow-gold effervescence exploded into a gaseous state, permeating everything around and through him. It appeared to unfurl more of itself, expanding and expanding until it was a thing infusing into every surface. When it stabilized, stopping in expansion, it began to swirl. Slowly, very slowly. All the tiny fizzing scattered about like some gold universe. Tiny lights darted on and shot clear from one side of the mass to the other. Things began moving individually, as the mass intelligently rearranged itself. Momentum of its spinning increased. The light it gave off increased. James didn't have to be told that it was a process catching up with itself. When it span so fast that it looked stationary, like a galaxy, and became so bright that he could see nothing else, his mind was forced to let go and return him back to his body.

Lily Evans went down in the same instant as Snape. She'd been working on the curtains in Slughorn's sitting room, and getting them to frame the floating candlelight just so. She'd been placed in charge of Slughorn's graduation party, guest invitations and décor. Even though any house elf, or Slughorn himself, could've managed a decent ambience with magic, Lily had volunteered, throwing herself into the cheerful challenge as hard as she could. What with checking on James as often as she'd could, as often as she'd promised his family, and minding her own curriculum, she needed to wrestle some happiness to the ground. Staying productive and involved, was her way of being responsible and effective. That's what she told herself, anyway.

James was too stubborn to be honest with her. She knew he was lying about his illness. She knew a nasty hex when she saw one. But she also knew her Potter was not a saint and she wasn't going to talk him into doing the right thing and come clean. She'd practically begged him to swallow his pride and make it right. Lots of people didn't like James, regardless of his perception. That's where her defenses kicked in. Her friends didn't have to like him, but they damn well better think twice before letting nasty comments get to her. Lord knows she'd put up with what they thought passed for boyfriends, politely enough. James had a brilliant mind, great looks, and was far the funniest, most charming Gryffindor around. It was only natural that he'd come up against the aggression of other males. It happened across all species and the fact that James didn't back down, afforded him equal points for manliness and stupidity. You couldn't seem to have one without the other. Every such man, needed a good woman looking after him. And she was doing her best.

But she couldn't fill in all the gaps for him. James kept telling her that the spell would wear off, but he looked worse every time she saw him. The fact that it was as strong and enduring as it was, narrowed down her list of potential casters. She knew only a handful of people disciplined enough to weave spells that advanced, and only one was an actual student. Snape had been back for weeks, and he still avoided her every approach when she could actually find him. It was like the school was helping him to hide from her.

She certainly didn't want to fight with Sevy. James and Sevy were polar opposites, she'd learned a long time ago to stop trying to bring their worlds together. But they were like magnets, and just kept attracting the worst in each other. She knew Sevy had done something, and she knew James had probably deserved it. But that didn't take her stress level down any notches. She just wanted to graduate with everyone in one piece.

She'd even attempted to go through Dumbledore to set up a meeting with Sev, only to have the Headmaster turn her down.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Evans, Severus is a bit compromised at the moment. I know you're worried about him. But he has asked me to gently decline a meeting with you. With his recent return, and amending his studies, he simply can't engage at this time. I'm afraid I have to agree with him. Give it another week or two. His workload will have lessened dramatically. In the meantime, if you feel the matter is too serious to wait, my door is always open to you. Myself, or Professor McGonagall, will do our best to listen to any concern you might have."

Dumbledore's syrupy refusal might as well have been a turd flicked onto her blouse. They were all hiding something. She could not have been more sure that Snape and James had finally come to blows so severe, that James was on the losing side of it. It was bound to happen. Severus might not win any trophies for leadership or athletics, but his intelligence went deeper than James's charm on the best day. It was possible to have a dangerous sort of intelligence. During his absence, she hadn't believed for a moment that he'd physically hurt himself, or let himself be harmed by anyone else. But she had believed that James and his friends had done something stupid, for which they all were licking their wounds.

At a very young age, she'd taken it upon herself to love Sev. Love the boy that everyone else was put off by. He was the perfect kind of strange. It was like having her very own guardian monster. Not that Sev was a monster, just that others enjoyed talking about him like he was, just because he was different. Even a witch had to fight for her right to have a monster. Even one as sweet as Sev. That was her thing, and she knew it made her special to him. She liked being someone's "special." She liked the attention and affection. Who wouldn't? She had a thousand people she could turn her brights on with, while Sev only had her, or so it seemed. They gave each other the exclusive affection that suited each of them, and it worked. No matter how hard she tried to explain the platonics of their friendship to James, his hot-blooded ego couldn't process it.

She also knew that he used that as an excuse to mess with Sev. And as long as she'd made herself available to love her monster, Sev would never hurt a soul. He would never turn his intelligence against anyone, as long as she'd been there to wedge herself between him and the rest of the world. Then there was that one summer where she realized she'd have to make a decision. Not about them, but about her life. She wanted to be a wife. She wanted children. She knew none of those things interested Sev, so she never looked at him with that kind of consideration. He was her special friend, and that's where she wanted to keep him. She gravitated to James. Suddenly James's pranks were more cruel to Sev and had Sev using unforgivable language against her. She forgave the name calling, but her trust shriveled a little. And in the months that it took to relax back to its normal size, James had wrapped his arm around her and firmly planted himself between her and Sev, not letting go of his position.

She never got her place back because, why should she? They were getting serious, and if James was going to be her husband one day, then he should be right there protecting her. Little witches have to let go of their beautiful monsters, if they want husbands, don't they?

She was standing on a ladder, pointing her wand under the entranceway. This was her last thought before something hit her with enough force to knock her off the ladder. Pamona Sprout, lining up the glowing flora that Slughorn requested, along with three Ravenclaw first-years helping her, turned to see Lily hit the floor. Candles blew out and curtains wafted in the wake of magic that had just exploded into the room.

When Lily opened her eyes, Madame Pomfrey was bending over her and telling her she was okay, just working too hard. She and Dumbledore convinced her to rest in the infirmary for the remainder of the day.

When Severus fell, it was not as sudden. He felt it coming on. He gripped the back of a stationary bench in front of him. Because he resisted it, it took on violent momentum. Hundreds of people were in the room with him. He bore down, hoping the pain would pass before it showed on his face.

It happened in the Great Hall. The space had been converted to prepare for ceremony, and swarmed with loud, excited conversation between jittery students. He'd been directing a group of students to hit their mark on the floor, stop short, and wait until the measuring wands were ready for them to corral into a taped off square, in single file.

Graduation was all the buzz. Seventh-years were being fitted with new robes for the ceremony and he'd been asked to help the Prefects organize measurements. Enchanted tapes and quills did all the work, but students had to be shuttled into lines and formations that accomplished the task accurately and efficiently. It all took place under Flitwick's supervision. He checked off names and stressed under the constraint of needing to have every house measured by noon, so that he could get on with ensemble rehearsals. It was taxing enough to have to compose an original score for the ceremony, keep up with his private Charms training, and assisting in getting everyone fitted.

When Severus frowned, his knuckles going white against the grain of the bench, the younger students assumed he was frustrated with them and inched by with caution. Some of them were trying to get a good look at his new, shorter hair, and wanted to puzzle out whether it suited him or not. It might've been more flattering if actual skill and care had been used to trim it. But Severus's hair had clearly been chopped with indifference, to his jawline, making the flat line of his mouth appear to extend wider than it did. Sharper and more severe even, living up to his name. They found it cool, but it was best not to get caught staring.

More perceptive eyes hung back, and actually glimpsed him losing his breath, turning sheet-white, and bending at the waist as if his back had just been snapped. No one heard him cry out because he suppressed it. The strength to do so, was the last he had.

At what point, the kids disappeared, and James, in all his vindication and angry thrusts, took their place, he didn't know. He only knew that something tore him from the students and put him back in James's arms, back in his grip, and skewered his guts to make room for it. He was back at the inn, and the smell of ice, mint, and bloody sweat. Something obscene blistered its way into his body, taking his breath. He felt James's chest, heavy on his back, and couldn't throw him. His abdominal muscles pulled down from the suction collapsing his inner walls. As James manipulated him in the most unnatural way, his body spilled everything it was holding onto.

He felt it leave him, draining out. For a moment, he fought to regain his balance among the students. He looked down at his robe and assured himself that no one could see. Not Flitwick, whose lips were moving, talking over him, but whom he couldn't hear. Questions and alarm, stood at attention on the other students' faces, so they mercifully couldn't tell. Severus reeled to his knees. A thin, hot trickle ran down his leg, and he glared at all of them for staring at him. For being unable to help him.

At that point, he wasn't sure if the jar spell was working, or if he was being attacked. Losing that yellow-gold light, watching it leave his aura, hurt too much to care.

Severus woke up to antiseptic herbs tickling his sinuses, lowered voices, and after-hour shadows in Pomfrey's infirmary. Rough sheets and a wool blanket trapped his body heat, so that he struggled out from under them. Judging from the saturated silence around him, it was late. Students were probably in bed. Judging from the strange aftertaste in his mouth, he'd been sedated. His body didn't want to move, but he didn't feel safe in that bed. Being flat on his back just felt wrong. He pulled himself up, ignoring the pain and not knowing what he meant to do. He let the need to rise take over.

Something didn't feel right. Not inside or out, and he wasn't going to figure out what to do lying on his back. As soon as the sheet slipped from his shoulders, cold ambushed his skin. His brain slammed shut on the questions it had about the padding crinkling uncomfortably in his shorts. He tried to keep his heaving quiet. That felt important. He knew he wasn't thinking clearly, but his every instinct told him not to let anyone know that he was awake and leaving. He looked for his clothes, finding none. The only thing hanging in the room's fabric wardrobe, was a collection of lost and found coats and cloaks. He threw on the biggest one, tightened it around him, and started to wedge himself between an opening in the curtains, at the opposite side of the voices.

"Not so fast, Severus."

Dumbledor's gentle baritone warned from the other side of the curtain. He stepped through with Madame Pomfrey. Both of them were looking at him like he'd just kicked a puppy, and he looked away, but not before noticing how red-rimmed Pomfrey's eyes were. She excused herself and crossed the floor, exiting behind Severus.

"Please, I must ask that you take the coat off and return to bed."

Severus immediately shook his head. "I can't stay here. I, I want to go to my room."

"I assure you, you don't want to be around your classmates at this time. They won't understand what you're going through."

This seemed to be admission enough, that Dumbledore himself knew. Severus turned wet, dark eyes up to him. "Do you know?"

"I know that the worst of your ordeal, is finally over. I know that you need to let us care for you, and get back into that bed. I am concerned about your health. The fetus required an inordinate blood supply, as if advancing too fast. You are extremely anemic at the moment. James did this to you. Why are you protecting him? That is perhaps, the one thing that confuses me."

"I'm not protecting him. I'm trying to kill him. I'm protecting Lily now. He was never going to leave me alone. He was going to scar me for life. I had to act."

"So you scarred yourself to control the damage. You put your body and mind at great risk."

Severus inhaled to speak plainly and sharply, that he had no intention of getting back into a sick bed. But when he opened his mouth, the accusation flew out of him, "He took it. He fucking took it!"

He pulled the oversized coat around him. In the past weeks, his body had lost all of its natural insulation and the coat, smelling of unfamiliar scents, shrouded his ribs in warmth against an otherwise sterile coldness. He knew this wasn't a proper bed area, but a makeshift room for privacy. They stood on carpet, the kind that stretched the length of Pomfrey's personal rooms, and not the tile that Dumbledore's heels would've clicked upon.

His nostrils flared with swollen blood vessels. Air barely squeezed out of his throat and for a minute he lost his breathe and couldn't talk through a storm of emotion that left the Headmaster respectfully silent.

When he did look at Dumbledore, the older wizard seemed to know what he needed to hear.

"Yes. It's gone. Madame Pomfrey disposed of it properly."

Seeing Severus close his eyes against these words, he added, "It's for the best, Severus. It is what you wanted."

Severus snarled at him. "No! Do not make this into something I wanted. I wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted him dead. I did not want any of the rest of it. The rest of it, was me cleaning up the mess. I had no idea this could happen. Did you? The way you turned a blind eye, the way you let it go on and on. Did you know what we were doing?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I have not positioned myself as Headmaster of this school for the fun of it. I'm here to discern what is best for our wizarding world, and those who will one day assume appropriate positions in it. Yes, I knew something of what you were up to, but I didn't know your every move until it was taken. And still, I did you the courtesy of waiting for you to come to me, when you were in over your head. Why didn't you come to me?"

"How many times do I need to come to you, only to have you pat me on the head and tell me to play nice with James?"

"I should think, only once before you planned his murder."

"Then you've failed a hundred times. I sat in your office, or in detention, year after year while he drove me insane and you did nothing."

"I did something, Severus. I gave you room to make your decision. I gave you the gift of silence to retaliate. The events with James can be interpreted in more than one way. The Ministry is not qualified to handle events of this delicate magnitude."

"And you are?"

"I am. I will not turn you over to their well-intentioned misgivings. They have prophecies, but they do not understand them. While I am disappointed that you kept your secretes to yourself, and that things have escalated to such an irreversible degree, I am aware that you are an extraordinary wizard. You are a part of something greater than any one person and you must be allowed to let your choices unfold."

"You don't sound surprised by any of it. Did you know? Did a prophecy warn you that this would all happen between me and James? Is that why Professor Trelawney works here, for you? Is that why you did nothing to stop it?"

"I knew I had to let you and James work out your problems. And yes, Trelawney's gifts are invaluable to us all."

The boy was so ready to let go of his burden, but Dumbledore had to pull the rest out of him. It took time, and skill, but Severus eventually released most of his secrets. Not because he trusted his Headmaster, but because they weren't worth the weight of carrying them. He told Dumbledore how James was supposed to die, his threat against Lily, and what he was doing to keep Lily alive. They talked at length about the curses destroying Sirius's, Remus', and Peter's lives.

"I can release them, but they'll be marked for the rest of their pitiful lives."

"And how long do you intend to make pets of them?"

"Just until their bodies are locked into the changes. When I let them become men again, if they so much as look at another person with the intent to harm, they will be reduced to the forms their cells are slowly adapting to. Only Remus, will be tied to the cycle of the moon. The other two, will need to mind their manners to avoid metamorphosis."

"Why did you spare Remus?"

"I didn't spare him. He was already cursed. His blueprint had taken the curse at a very young age. Whatever his parents did to render it dormant, it's now active. I could only make modifications to it. He will be aware of himself when he turns. He will be self-aware and have the ability to stop himself from killing. His bite cannot turn another. But he won't know that."

"In short, he'll be a man in a werewolf's body. The real curse will be becoming fully aware of himself in a monstrous form."

"Yes. He loathes the monster within. He loathed himself, but watched his friends and participated anyway. He lives with the creature, and my spell will bring it out for him to look upon in full."

Dumbledore's expression closed on his inner reflection. Severus waited for him to talk him into undoing the curses. He didn't. He stroked his beard and said, "You spared their lives. With everything done to you, with the exception of James, you spared their lives."

"There's no saving James, and I've ruined their lives."

"No, you've given them a second chance. They will go through hell with their bodies. They will lose their families. But they will have no choice but to use their natural qualities, if they are to overcome your spells. And you've fixed it to where they can hurt no one else. You are not a monster, Severus. Far from it. It's a better alternative than Azkaban. You have dealt a harsh punishment, but I would trust you with my soul."

Pain dimpled Severus's chin. He was well aware that he had omitted any information about Tom Riddle. He didn't mean to entirely. Every time he started anywhere near Riddle's involvement, something twisted the tension in his lips so tightly, he could hardly move them. He refused to alarm himself with the thought that Riddle was somehow present in his thoughts and censoring his every word. He didn't deserve Dumbledore's trust and gave him a reason not to give it. "Well I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone. Your help comes late in the day."

"It comes when it's most needed. I had to let you find out for yourself, who you are. This is done, not by giving you instructions, removing James from your path, or cushioning your way, but by letting you weigh your toughest choices. I do not ask that you come to terms with all of this tonight. Only that you stay here, in this room, and think about what I'm saying. In the morning, Pomfrey will release you at first light. Tonight, her wards, and mine, will keep you here."

This sickened Severus, and made the hairs on his neck stand.

Dumbledore stated, "I'm going to make you an offer. I was saving this for your post-graduate interview. I know that you have a number of offers to study abroad, and I want to see you excel in your mastery. But I think now I should make my offer."

Severus let his thin neck come out of the coat collar.

"I must ask that you stay on at the school. Apprentice to McGonagall and myself. Not immediately, but after you've traveled a bit and apprenticed as you've planned. Come back to us. Take a teaching position. Stay close to the school so that you have our help. Whatever's happening, it's not happening in isolation. Students do not find their paths so far off course unless it is an omen of greater intrusion into this world. From what I know of Trelawney's prophecies, and your struggle with James, I think you are fighting a war ahead of your peers. It seems that you and James are intricately connected by magic beyond known and legal parameters. You cannot be sufficiently judged by those same parameters. Certainly, not by the Ministry. Stay here, and I will give you sanctuary. Teach. You have so much to offer."

This shocked Severus more than discovering Dumbledore's lack of concern over James. He asked snidely, "Some people might call me a monster. You're not afraid of me being around your precious, innocent students?"

"My dear Severus, your costume doesn't fool me. You have lost everything to position yourself here. In my eyes, all that you are guilty of, is sacrificing your own innocence. You are seventeen years old and you've lost your child this evening, which you carried alone and in secret, and in shame. If anyone is precious in my sight, it is you. And on behalf of the entire wizarding world, I apologize for what was done to you. I fear our students are going to need your guardianship more than ever."

As if to make Severus's head thrum even more, he added, "Stay on at the school. You are a natural guardian and so was your mother. You both used your bodies to amass an armory of magic. She passed the torch on to you, and you are using it well."

"What do you know of my mother?" The question was as much threatening, as it was hopeful.

"Eileen was my student. I don't know as much about her as I know about you. She knew her ways were suspicious to most people, even by wizard standards, so she kept her projects to herself mostly. I suspect she didn't want anyone talking her out of them."

Insinuation hung in the air.

"Will you think about my offer?"

He rolled his eyes and swallowed. He nodded, but Dumbledore wasn't satisfied until he heard a solid "Yes," issue past Severus's lips.

"Good." They both knew he wanted to touch Severus, simply to comfort and reassure him. But the way Severus had folded himself against it, he lingered back. A shift from one leg to the other, had Severus jumping to the conclusion that he was leaving.

"That is, I'll consider it. But you, you have to promise. You have to promise me something."

"Certainly, dear boy."

"You will never tell. No one must ever know what happened here, or why, or any of it. Promise me."

Dumbledore looked surprised. "Severus, I would not withhold information from the Ministry, then gossip my way through social ranks. Only McGonagall, Pomfrey, and myself, know the details of what transpired here today, and their discretion will die with them. I promise you, I shall tell no one about the child."

Severus didn't exactly feel relieved, but he'd heard Dumbledore say it at least.

"While we're on the subject, you had more than enough magic to protect your body. What if that wasn't what the magic was for? What if someone else needed that surplus and that person had to come through you to get it?

This little puzzle caused Severus to lift his head. "My mother's magic wasn't for me?"

"It was for you. And many others, through you. If you and James conceived from your magic, it makes me think there was no other way for this one to come. Prophecies speak of a child coming, who's magic will be critical to our way of life. If that life is still intact, if James has done what you suspect, then that life is still poised to come into this world. James has torn it from you and bound it to Lily."

Severus shook his head in disgust. "He thinks he has preserved his life. My other spell is the only thing keeping him and Lily alive."

"He has preserved his life, but not the way that he thinks. Your supplementary spell has bought him time. But he stole living magic. He stole something that intended to take human form. You say you saw him take the jar? You saw it smash?"

"I don't know how it happened. Whatever he did, it came to me. It translated into my world. I saw him in that place where my mother stored my magic. On this side, it's just a symbolic place, but on that side, it's real and James took it. He smashed it. All the light went up. It left me. At first it was this hideous, sickening yellow, but then after a while, it grew really warm, like the sun. It felt different, and I didn't mind it so much. But I wasn't going to let it turn into a baby. I couldn't let that happen. But then he just took it. And I passed out and woke up here. That's the only way I know how to interpret it. He fucking took it."

"Calm, Severus. I understand this is quite alarming. You're shaken. Think it through. If James linked his fate to Lily, that soul will gravitate to the most compatible match, the most compatible fertilized egg. If James fertilized the first egg, that entity already knows where it's supposed to go. That aura is still vital and waiting for the opportunity to get another body."

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm sorry, Severus. It may interest you to know that Ms. Evans fainted today. Madame Pomfrey insists she's fine now. She doesn't recall what happened."

"Lily fainted?" His spine stiffened. Dumbledore put himself between Snape and the opening in the curtains.

"I promise you, she's been examined and no cause for alarm has been found. Whatever James did, she felt it at the same time you did."

"I'm going to have to tell her."

"No, you're not. It would only complicate things tremendously, and pointlessly, if nothing comes of it. You don't want to worry her, if you've already taken matters into hand to help her."

"I can't watch while this affects her. She wasn't supposed to feel anything."

Dumbledore held onto him. "I'm going to be blunt. They are a couple. James doesn't know that you're keeping him alive. If he impregnates Lily, that soul is likely to resume its human journey in her womb. There's nothing we can do to prevent it from being her child. I'm only saying this to prepare you. It is one thing, to deny yourself a child, for whatever reason. Then watch helplessly as that same one comes through another. You did not intend to lose any child to the ravishment of this world. This is why teaching will give you the perfect opportunity to help the ones who are already here."

"James and Lily could have my…"

"I'm not saying that will happen, but I don't want to see you hurt if it does. If he linked all three of you to the jar, your magic will dominate to keep them alive. But now that you've lost the child, with its magic still thriving, that energy is likely to settle with the first available conception. It is now linked to all three of you, and she possesses the natural womb. Do you understand?"

This was a profound punch to his gut.

"He took it." Severus doubled over. Dumbledore rushed to his side and steadied him to sit back on the bed.

"He took it."

He repeated those words, distraught, long after Pompfrey forced sedation upon him. In fretful sleep, he repeated them throughout the night.

* * *

Please review! :-) Thank you ALL for the kudos and comments.

A/N: Credit to Potionpen for the explanation of Snape's "fine" hair. So tired of people taking the books so literally. When I got done reading them, all I could see was this great man, not some big nose or greasy hair. (Valley of Shadow/The Truth is Subjective series)

Psychological Time - credit to Seth/Jane Roberts/Rob Butts

"You gotta fight for your right to have a monster." - Tori Amos interview.

Mixed metaphors. I totally mix them. I've never rejected a story based on mixed metaphors just because academia is claiming authority on the matter.


	20. Epilogue: Heir

Following graduation, Severus returned to his parent's home and saw it fully restored. His body restored itself also. His clothes became his armor. The layers he added to himself presented a stiff shield to the world and kept it at a formal distance. He still heard the whisper of the witches, but only allowed himself to hear them if they had something useful to say. He mastered the dial on their voices.

Three hours after midnight, the moon shone in its _waning gibbous_ phase. It was a remarkably clear night, perfect for testing any effect on Remus. From his kitchen table, Severus paused his sip of tea, to look out into the yard, to see if it was having any. He kept the lights off inside so that his eyes could stay adjusted to the dark. Thirty meters from the porch, Remus continued excavating beneath the shed. He'd been at it for almost two weeks now. It would've been finished already, had Severus allowed him more than a few hours a night to dig. The both of them had to be patient. The both of them were learning. Severus took meticulous notes no matter how smoothly things seemed to be going. Just because the beast still had its human sentience, and therefore could still be subjected to an Imperius, didn't mean Severus could take safety for granted. There were serious wards defending against escape and a host of interlocking charms binding Remus to the property. That didn't mean he was allowed to run around it at night. In full transformation, he stayed in the cellar, with the rest of his friends, and kept mostly quiet, except on stormy nights. He whimpered during storms or any weather threatening to become a storm.

Pitiful, high pitched whistles of canine cries, kept Severus awake at night. That was, until he took Sirius and Peter, still in their cages, and put them all together in the basement. The space was little more than crawl space, with a few tools and benches where Eileen had stored potatoes and tended to her cauldron. She had rigged it with ventilation and hanging lights so that she could brew for long hours after sunset without worrying about being seen. Once, since his return from school, only a single neighbor knocked to complain about the noise, all the while apologizing for bothering Severus so late. The young man didn't look familiar to him, but that didn't stop him from offering an apology of his own, stepping aside to let him see the black German Shepherd in question, and telling him that the dog was homesick.

"I'm only watching him for the summer. He misses his master, terribly. I'm no dog lover, and a poor substitute, I'm afraid. I will do my best to keep him silent."

The young man smiled affectionately at the dog, darted hesitantly towards it, and stumbled back when barking and growls forced him back over the threshold.

Severus didn't bother to apologize for that. He simply closed the door, put Sirius under the house, reinforced the soundproof charms, and continued catching up on his brewing.

No one had complained about the noises in weeks. He felt he was on the verge of a breakthrough regarding Remus's ability to stave off transformation under a full moon. He was having great success with the chrysalis tissue of the giant silk moth. It contained an inhibitor, integral to the lunar cycle, which dictated the life cycle of the insect. He hadn't yet isolated the chemical responsible for regulating the moth's emergence, but he knew the secret was there somewhere. If the moon stimulated those tiny creatures to eat their way out of their cocoons on every first cycle, and he successfully bred a generation of them that slept through their awakening, then he knew his line of study was close to yielding a potion for Remus.

Why did Remus get help, when the others did not? Because Remus's curse wasn't quite like the others. Without help, Remus would get no say in when he wanted to turn and when he didn't. All three of them had to live a certain portion of their lives in animal form. Similar to the Fire Shackle, their curses would be triggered by the intensity of their emotions, and their intent to harm. Sirius's and Peter's curses held the opportunity of outgrowing that emotional trigger, but Remus's did not. Since Remus had been afflicted at such an early age, his animal form came with genetic instructions that Severus did not want to have to go beyond his fourth level to rewrite.

With Sirius and Peter, Severus had chosen their forms. He had put a lot of thought into how well blind loyalty shaped itself to Sirius's rash behavior, and how Peter scampered between the heels of those who rewarded him with approval or punished him with scorn. He never scampered off, but stayed, leaping erratically in circles at their feet, courting their disgust. Severus chose his and Sirius's forms to force them to look at the kind of beasts they were inside. Their transformations had been intentionally slow and painful, but with a purpose.

Unlike the transfigurations learned at school, the slow form of metamorphosis demanded more physical resources than magical. They took their toll on the body as each cell adapted to a range of new functions and new genetic strains. Once the cells learned, they could not unlearn their way back to the first form. The new data gave them elasticity, but the slow reshaping of genetics, created a permanent stamp of instruction within their blueprint. If Sirius and Peter had ever wanted to cultivate different animagus forms, they could not. They were now locked into the forms they would take to their graves. That was the spell. The long process would give them partial control over their forms later, but they still had to live a good portion of their lives as animals.

It had taken months to shrivel their bodies into unresponsive, knotted masses of deformed aberrations of nature, so painful to look at, their families kept them hidden in the bowels of institutions that had given up hope. They were so bad off, so abandoned by their kin, that Severus barely had to lie to gain approval for their discharge. He obtained the proper letters of reference, wore the appropriate waist coats, invested in the current styles, and introduced himself as a school acquaintance. He displayed his credentials in Potions and Research, his apprenticeship abroad in the coming year, and claimed that he wanted to devote his time and energy to caring for their sons.

"We were not close, no. But I attended class with them every day. One can't help but acquire an appreciation for the members of one's class. I lived with them for seven years. They deserve a home. They deserve sunlight and treatment until a remedy is found. I think I see a way to help them when everyone else has given up. Surely, you'd rather your son is comforted and treated instead of locked away from the world. Allow me to relieve you of all worries. Just for the summer. I know that I'm only a student, but I am a skilled one, and I am the only one offering help to you and your family. I will work so exclusively on your son's cure, that if I have not succeeded in bringing him around to himself, or any improvement in that direction, I will return him to you by the start of fall. You may inspect my home. You may inspect my treatment."

In the end, he won, with each family offering to provide house elves, services, and payment for their sons' accommodations. Severus took none of it. Peter's family did visit his home, while Sirius's sent a house elf to inspect and report back to them. While no one was impressed, Severus tidied the place and polished what he had, so that the Blacks and Petigrews were able to maintain polite smiles as they pretended not to be offended by his neighborhood or his house. Bags of galleons were discreetly left at the back of his garden. They were placed there during the night by house elves. Not so much as a show of thankfulness or generosity, as encouragement to buy himself a better dwelling.

Instead of being insulted, Severus opened a vault at Gringotts and set to work. He'd asked for the whole summer to cure Sirius and Peter, when all he needed was a month. And he didn't need the month to cure them, as he needed it to make sure they completed their transformations. They were looking so frightening to their caregivers, that he was sure the word, euthanasia, was beginning to form in everyone's minds. He didn't give them clean sheets and cozy beds. He built cages and took them right to the cellar and studied their daily changes. He kept up correspondence with their families and trained Remus not to eat them when they were small enough, and Remus was transfigured himself.

Under Severus's curse, Remus's form was not yet regulated by the moon. He simply turned when Severus wanted him to, and stayed that way until released.

Severus's first night at home, had been the reward he'd waited on. He hadn't seen Remus for weeks before leaving Hogwarts. But he knew the wolf would come. That was the test that demonstrated how well the curse was working. Severus had put the kettle on, muggle style, just to enjoy his anticipation and the resulting scrape of claws on the stairs outside. He hadn't expected the wolf to knock. And the way it hunched, bending all ten feet of itself into a hunkered crouch, appeared astonishingly apologetic to Severus, who had to crane his neck to stare directly into Remus's snout.

"My wand."

Wolf eyes blinked wetly at him. The fur between them furrowed as the beast lifted hair-covered biceps, elongated and massive above Severus's head. His paws, equipped with talons that glistened like polished bone, held something. They lowered to Severus and offered it to him.

It took a second for Severus to make himself touch the werewolf. But retrieving his wand, was worth it. He told Remus, "Thank you, Remus. You've done very well."

The werewolf let its shoulders slump, as if he'd finally heard exactly what he wanted to hear. Severus stepped back away from him. "You may start the digging. Your cell should be completed in two weeks."

It was going to take a considerable amount of time and dedication to develop a potion for Remus. He could not keep the wolf under the house indefinitely. As soon as Remus excavated room enough for a cell, Severus intended to finish it in concrete and test his experiments there. Remus needed to be given some control, where as, the others would come by their own cycles naturally.

At what point, watching Peter and Sirius shrivel into flesh colored things that grew claws, blinked back at him, and ate whatever the wolf fed them, became unbearable to watch, Severus couldn't say. He made himself watch all of it. He saw Sirius grow from a hairless, football sized thing, all bony protrusions and bulbous tumors, into something round, swollen and beginning to grow its first solid coat of hair. Severus detailed how four legs grew out over a three-day period, covered in wet, milky translucent skin, only to go thick with fur by the third week.

Peter kept getting smaller, not losing the human symmetry of his face until well after he was the size of a groundhog. Human eyes bulged outwardly over sockets that had taken on a rodent's skeletal frame, and for days all the thing did was screech in a way that made the wolf whimper.

Severus watched this and waited to feel something other than disgust for himself as well as the creatures. He waited for relief, for anger, for anything other than what he felt. There were times when he wondered if killing them would bring him the fulfillment he wanted. He could've chopped Peter and Sirius up and fed them to the wolf. But the thought only made him sick and forced him to admit that there was nothing he could do to them, that would make those hours spent at their mercy, not have happened. After that, it was only seconds before the real truth slid into place in his mind. He'd done his worst to them, and still it wasn't enough. Still, it left him irritated and wishing the process would go faster. It left him wishing that it was James in his basement, not them. James was the one who deserved to be chopped up and fed to his friends.

After seeing Sirius and Peter complete their transformations, he couldn't stand thoughts like that.

He wondered when James would start looking for his friends. A caring friend, spontaneously recovered, would've visited his institutionalized mates, would've comforted their families and learned how an old schoolmate by the name of Snape, spirited them away to his home. Any normal friend, would've had Snape's door torn off its hinges by now. He didn't have to worry about that from James, who seemed to put his friends behind him, his fiancée in front, and wasn't looking back.

By the time Riddle tricked Severus into meeting Voldemort, and positioned him before the man-thing, Severus had long released the creatures and allowed them to slink back to their half-lives.

"I feel I know you," were the first words Voldemort spoke to Severus, with his physical lips, which he pressed close to Severus's ear.

As soon as they were released, the dog and rat had both scampered off in different directions. Severus made good on his word to their families. Sirius and Peter were seen again in the company of their relatives, whether they were okay with it or not. Remus was kept in supplies that allowed him to live as a human most of the time, and James married Lily.

By the time, Severus was offered the Dark Mark, he was far too deep in Voldemort's designs to refuse it. He needed to keep Lily alive and Voldemort made sure that Severus understood that Tom's promise, was his promise. "We have an agreement, you and I."

Severus remembered that agreement. And the day that he said no to Voldemort, was the day the Potters died.

He was the first to arrive at the Potters' house, because he was the first to realize how badly he'd mistaken the Dark Lord's exactitude. He'd grown complacent in their arrangement, if not comfortable. He'd grown arrogant enough to think that just because the Lord favored him among followers, meant that he actually had a choice in what was being asked of him. He forgot, for one exhausted second, to maintain approving worship, if not silence, in the presence of Voldemort's self-proclaimed sovereignty, that he actually looked him in the eye and told him no, before coming to his senses.

That split second, was all the time the Dark Lord needed to make sure Severus would never do it again.

Severus passed through the busted gate, entered the entrance, stepping over a door that lay in splinters all over the carpet. He had never entered James's home before, and didn't want to now. But he had to see for himself. He had to see if it was really over. James's and Lily's home held the silence usually left in the wake of a visit from Voldemort. Either that, or he couldn't be bothered to listen for anything other than the sound of survivors. His instincts drew him to the stairs, where he climbed, holding his breath. The sight of James's feet, splayed in brown and green socks, was the first thing he breathed away from his mind. He stopped only once, refused to react in a way that that body did not deserve, and stepped carefully along the side of it. There was only one person he needed to see, and this wasn't it.

By then, he could hear thin whimpers of an infant expressing distress. He knew very well that Lily's child was up there with her. But when he rounded the door, no amount of foresight prepared him to see her thrown on her back, slack and empty in death.

She and Potter had lived for so long in Severus's secret arrangement, so safely, he'd forgotten that Voldemort was doing him any favors. And because he'd forgotten, Lily was gone. In the crib, her son's heated brow furrowed at Severus. His tiny fists struggled to grip the railing and pull himself up. He watched Severus with huge eyes and seemed to know that the big, shadowy man's tears meant that something was really wrong and now was the time to scream for his mommy.

Severus couldn't even see the child through his tears. He preferred it that way. He lifted Lily, whose body poured against his as if all her bones were broken. She was small, light, and delicate. And his. He hadn't meant to let her go so carelessly. He hadn't meant to underestimate what Voldemort would do. He'd kept her alive for so long, he half thought she didn't really need his help anymore. He'd been careless.

He rocked her and rocked her, until the baby's cries made it clear he couldn't stay on the floor holding her all night. Even if that's all he wanted to do. He felt she needed soothing. Her spirit was angry and begging him to look after her baby. He felt her, and he reassured her with his embrace, that he would.

That didn't mean he knew what to do. The minute he got control of himself to look at the child, he knew he couldn't touch it. Harry. That's what they'd named him. He knew that much. Like he'd ever forget that much. The child's cries were growing less shrill, but more drawn out. He rubbed at his eye and Severus saw blood smear across his head. He quickly laid Lily on the carpet and went to Harry.

The blood came from a cut over his right eye. It could've been a cut, it could've been a scratch. There were residue stenches of the killing curse, and the sulfurous vapor its green flash left behind. He took a blanket and dabbed at the scratch, noting how the child's cries immediately softened. Uncoordinated arms reached out to Severus. Plump fingers twisted his sleeve. He knew what the child wanted and he couldn't make himself do it. Lily was there, screaming over his shoulder, and still he couldn't make himself do it.

 _ **Take my son! Take him, Snape. Take him out of here and run.**_

All he could do, for a moment, was stare transfixed, at the many layers of light emitted by the child's aura. He peeled them back, one by one, until he was staring at the yellow-gold effervescence he remembered so well. There was his happiness. There was all the things that made his life worth its uphill clime. There was his mother's laughter and his father's contentment. There was everything he knew to be good about life. There it was. There was his child, that James had taken away from him.

"I'll get help. Dumbledore will know what to do." He didn't know how safe it was to apperate with a baby, even if he could, so he summoned a Hogwarts elf, entrusted to help, when called. Dumbledore arrived within minutes. He stared at the child, at Severus who got to his knees again beside Lily, then back at the child.

"Severus, there's nothing you can do for her. We will take the child and go."

"I can't leave her."

"She's gone. This place isn't safe for Harry. Come look at him and tell me what you see."

"I can't."

"I will take him, Severus. Not to worry. I will fix this. But this might be the last time you see him. I want you to take a good look and tell him good-bye."

Severus opened his mouth to say 'I can't, one more time. It stayed open without the words ever forming. Dumbledore was holding the infant. "He doesn't bite."

Easy for him to say. Severus stared. He went one better and finally stood. He was only inches from the baby, who curled into Dumbldore and brought his thumb to his mouth while continuing to beam wide bright eyes at him.

"You don't have to hold him, but say good-bye."

"Oh, give him to me." Severus forced himself to take the child. He didn't press it to him, but instead held him at arm's length like a puppy he didn't want peeing on him. "Okay, Harry. Very well, I want you to know that you're going to be fine and I never meant for any of this to happen."

He looked to Dumbledore for reassurance.

"We have to go, Severus."

Harry twisted, expressing his discomfort at being held by someone who clearly didn't want to hold him.

"Harry," Severus appealed. "I'm shite at this and you wouldn't

want to live with me. I know you can't understand a word of what I'm saying, and I feel like an idiot talking to you, but I'm hoping your magic will convey it to you somehow. Forgive me."

He handed the child back to Dumbledore, who whispered, "Go back to the castle and stay there till I send word."

Severus nodded, shaking, and apperated several seconds behind them.

The first day of school was always the hardest. Not because it was awkward and uncomfortable, but because Severus really didn't like teaching. Correction, he didn't like teaching students who showed no aptitude for learning. First years were the worst. Perhaps, because they were so young, their ineptitude couldn't be blamed upon them. That's why he tried to be patient. That's why he tried to calm his nerves. For the first time since his hiring at Hogwarts, he allowed himself a swallow of alcohol before class. It wasn't like him, and it certainly wasn't professional, but that wasn't exactly what he was going for when he choked the acid down. He was going for complete, emotionless numbness, to get him through his day.

The only problem was, every time he looked through the crack of his door, out at all those tender faces, he found himself reacting to all kinds of emotions.

"You can do this. You've done this a hundred times."

Not a hundred, exactly. No where near. But certainly enough not to be cowed by a bunch of eleven year-olds waiting to see how much they could get away with.

He was shaking. He took another swig, splashed water onto his face, and ordered himself to march into his classroom. "I can do this!"

He leapt for the door, his hand stopping short of touching the handle. "I can't do this."

The hourglasses on his desk informed him that there were only twenty-five minutes left in the class.

"Oh, good. All I have to do is waste another half-hour, and I'll be rid of him. Them."

Them.

It wasn't like he was singling any of them out. It wasn't like he was all worked up over one little brat who wasn't going to get special treatment, no matter what he was like. Severus could see the back of the boy's head from the crack. All that black hair and the shock of glasses. Could life be any more cruel? He was expected to go out and face that? The boy looked to be chattering non-stop with the redhead Weasley and that tiny Grainger witch with the large mouth. Ugh, he hated his job. Why did he ever think he could do this?

 _Because you do it every year,_ the witches encouraged him.

"I'm not going to treat him any differently."

 _No one wants you to._

"In fact… " He raised his finger to make a point. His stomach lurched. "I'm going to be sick."

He wasn't but he stayed down just in case.

 _You have nothing to fear._

"What if he hates me? What if he remembers me?"

 _It is your job to make him hate you. He will be safer if he feels he can never rely on you for anything._

Severus closed his eyes against that bitterness. He and Dumbledore had gone over it a hundred times. The boy was to be given absolutely no incentive to like him. He'd get used to it. They both would get used to it.

He stood, smoothing down his robe and taking another peek. But gods, the boy was beautiful, in spite of his shared genetics with James. Severus saw his mother in him, in that thin little smile that would one day be charming. He told himself he wasn't going to look any deeper, but how could he not, when James's and Lily's traits were waving like flags, bragging about who the child really belonged to. Severus looked above the boy's head for his magic. He looked until his eyes enhanced what was there to see. The first layers were white, blue, and green. The boy was surprisingly stable for his first day. The next, innermost layer was yellow. Yellow-gold. It splashed the air around him with a universe of shattered light and pointed rays. When he smiled at his friends, it expanded to enclose them into his happiness.

Severus backed away from the door. He took a deep breath, walked out, and made his way to the front of the class. He would teach his students. But more than that, he would face Harry Potter.

* * *

The End

Please review! I'd love to know if you made it to the end of the story. Thank you all for the kudos and comments! Those give back.

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A/N: I really have mixed feelings about seeing this come to an end. A bit of postpartum depression, I don't care what anyone says. My stories are my babies (even if I borrow names from Mrs. Rowling), especially when I pour so much love into them and they take up so much of my life. I know it's just a transition to make sure I don't carry anything from this story into my next project. But damn, this has been so much fun. I don't know what to do with myself. That'll take care of itself in about a week. On an even deeper note, I think it's showing me that I can't give readers the perfect story they want, and they can't always give me the appreciation I'm wanting, (though many did!). So we're kinda learning the same lesson, to give ourselves what we want from others. I thought I wanted to be a writer to give people access to amazing emotions that lift them beyond the cares of this world. That's still there, but when it doesn't work, I'm faced with the realization that I write, not only because it's fun, but it fills a need to feel valuable and appreciated, more so than I ever thought I needed. Everyone wants to feel those basic, essential things. I didn't know that I had a deficiency in this area, that really mattered, until examining the aftermath of this story. Writing always teaches me something.

You know what, I AM going to write Harry's version in this Unbearable series! I think that's why I'm feeling unresolved about it. A reply to a reader just helped me to make that decision. I was worried about not really wanting to cross parent/child boundaries again - incest - but dammit, that's what the story _wants_ to work out. Harry uses legilimancy to see what his father did to Snape, and spends the rest of the time proving that he has the right to love Snape as a man. And Snape has the right to let him. It will all be post-war and Snape is trying to live out his life being useful and hidden in a remote village when Harry finds him. This will be fully written before ever being posted, and will not be as long Draco. Again, thank you everyone. :-)


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